Smiling as the shit comes down
Who: House, Chase (NPC), open
Where: House's office; heading down to the cafeteria
What: New case. Getting something to eat + avoiding Wilson and Cuddy
When: Day after House's meeting with Cade - Friday, 12th May, almost midday.
( You can tell a man from what he has to say )
Where: House's office; heading down to the cafeteria
What: New case. Getting something to eat + avoiding Wilson and Cuddy
When: Day after House's meeting with Cade - Friday, 12th May, almost midday.
( You can tell a man from what he has to say )
As if in delayed reaction, he bristled when it sunk in that Wilson had snappishly apologised for sleeping with Cuddy. He didn't want to be reminded of that. But a moment later, it clicked what Wilson's issue was -- Wilson thought he'd failed House for not being able to... be penetrated by his penis.
So, House had lashed out unreasonably at Wilson earlier in the day, and now it was Wilson's turn. House looked away before he pushed himself up onto his elbow, feeling suddenly frustrated at how this entire day seemed to have come complete circle. It just went to prove that they hadn't actually worked through the issue of sleeping with Cuddy at all, and House felt prickly about that. He was willing to just ignore that whole thing if Wilson was. And here, Wilson just brought it up again, making it clear that things were far from fine.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position and drew his good leg up, resting his arm on his bent knee. He stared moodily across the room for a moment.
"If you think you not being able to get my dick up your ass is supposed to prove something, you're wrong," House sniped. "It doesn't prove anything. It just proves that we don't know what the hell we're doing."
He turned his head and looked down at Wilson. "So you couldn't get my dick in your ass," he continued testily, feeling is irritation rising fast. "So what? Doesn't make me love you any less."
Those last words were out of House's mouth before he realised what he was saying. But once he'd said them, he suddenly froze. He stared at Wilson, feeling like he was a deer trapped in the headlights, before he quickly turned his head away. He then suddenly felt uncomfortable and exposed, the air in the room feeling heavy, weighted down with his words, and he started to scoot to the edge of the bed as he reached down to his dick and started to pluck the condom off. Maybe he'd go and watch television, or... something.
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Nothing was more unexpected to Wilson than what House said next. In fact, there was very little House could have said then that would have surprised Wilson more.
Doesn’t make me love you any less.
Just hearing those words made Wilson forget to breathe for a moment. Was that why he was feeling so bad? Because he thought House might love him less? Because he hadn’t been able to give House something that… a woman would have been able to. Like Cuddy. Like Stacy. It seemed it was likely that was at least a part of it, considering how Wilson reacted at hearing those words.
Realising that House had sat up and appeared to be about to leave, Wilson rolled over and grabbed House’s wrist. He had no idea what to say, so he just held on so House couldn’t leave. Not without a struggle anyway. Wilson didn’t feel like he could apologise again, not after what he’d just said. But maybe he could try explaining.
“I just… wanted to make love with you,” Wilson said, struggling to say the words that he’d prevented himself from saying before. “I just wanted something to go right for once. And I don’t… I don’t understand why….”
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He peered down at the floor with a stern look on his face when Wilson talked, tensing up when Wilson called their aborted attempt at sex "make love". That was exactly the kind of intimate thing he didn't want to hear right now. He gave another half-hearted try at wrestling his wrist free before giving up again and sagged his shoulders.
He turned his head to the side slightly, not enough to look at Wilson but enough so that he could see Wilson out of his peripheral vision. "Things were going right," House replied with a hint of viciousness to his voice. "Until we slept with Cuddy."
He fully turned his head enough so he was now looking directly at Wilson. "Don't start getting vagina envy on me," he spitefully continued. He was too worked up now to stop himself from just saying whatever came to his mind. "I don't care that the... what we were trying to do, didn't work out. I don't need to stick my dick up your ass in order for me to--" 'make love with you', he was going to say. He couldn't bring himself to say it, though.
"--have sex with you," he continued, still sounding curt. "The sex with Cuddy was great. But she wasn't you. See the difference?"
He held Wilson's eye contact for an intense moment before he looked away and attempted to wrestle his wrist free from Wilson's grip again. "Now, if you don't mind," he said crisply, "let go of my wrist."
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There seemed little point in trying to say anything; it was obvious how much House wanted to leave. Though, if that meant leaving the room or leaving his apartment, Wilson supposed he could only wait and see. He didn’t want House to leave at all, despite his harsh words.
Wilson could only hope that maybe House would just go and watch TV for a while, to cool off, before coming back. Leaving his apartment probably meant they’d be back to square one. Wilson didn’t even want to think about that possibility.
Lying down on his side, with his back to House, Wilson pulled the comforter right up over his shoulders and closed his eyes. Though the exhaustion was still there, Wilson didn’t know if he would be able to sleep any more. There was too much going on in his head, too many things unresolved. Too much churning confusion.
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Yanking the drawer open, he tugged out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, slammed the drawer shut again and headed straight out of the room to the living room. Once he was there, he dropped his cane to the sofa and tugged his clothes on. House then stood there and reached one hand up to his face to rub it, trying to decide what he wanted to do. He couldn't think straight at the moment. He felt too angry and frustrated. He almost hoped that he'd get a phonecall to say that his patient had worsened and he was needed in the hospital. That would give him an excuse to leave without outright leaving. Or if they didn't call, he could always go into the hospital anyway.
The thing was, he wasn't sure what it was that he felt so angry about. If he was angry at Wilson for being so insecure, or if he was angry at the whole fucking situation, or at himself. Maybe it was all three. But Wilson had every right to feel insecure, after the way House had treated him earlier in the day. But that didn't stop House from being angry at Wilson's insecurity all the same. Because it made House feel incompetent, to know that he couldn't seem to give Wilson the same as what Wilson wanted to give him in regards to sex.
Dropping his hand from his face, he slumped down onto the sofa and sat back with his eyes closed. He felt tired, but not at the same time. His mind was racing too much to allow himself to sleep, no matter how tired his body was feeling. Sitting forward on the sofa again, he reached for his jacket and yanked it towards him, fished in the pockets for his pills and took one. Stuffing the vial back in his pocket again, he tossed the jacket back where it was and then reached for the remote and after switching the television on, he sat back to blankly watch it.
Whatever it was he was watching, it had the desired numbing effect on his mind that he wanted. Or maybe that was his Vicodin. Either or both. But after half an hour of watching the television, he felt calmer. Enough so that he was actually glad he didn't impulsively leave. He pondered the idea of sleeping on the sofa, but knew his leg would hate him for it the next day.
After a few minutes of deliberation, House decided to go back to Wilson's room. He pushed himself up from the sofa, switched the television off and then headed back slowly to Wilson's room. He didn't know if Wilson was asleep or not -- he partly doubted Wilson was. Setting his cane aside when he reached the bedside, House reluctantly climbed onto the bed and tugged the covers up over himself, then lay there on his back, staring at the ceiling.
A few minutes passed and House turned his head to look across at Wilson. House rolled to his side and slowly shifted in towards Wilson, right up until he was pressed up behind him.
"You awake?" he murmured against the back of Wilson's neck.
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When he was more or less clean, Wilson stood still for a moment, hearing the TV go on. So, House wasn’t angry enough at him to leave. And Wilson did think House was angry specifically at him. For bringing up Cuddy again if nothing else.
Finding another pair of sweat pants, since the pair he’d been wearing earlier were still out in the living room, Wilson put them on and felt a little better. Amazing that feeling clean and being clothed could be an instant improvement of mood. Climbing back in to bed, Wilson slid down to lie in the same position he’d been in before and turned out the bedside lamp.
There was still light coming in from the partly open doorway, but Wilson didn’t close the door. He wasn’t sure how long passed that he lay there fitfully dozing. Fitfully, because every time he really started to drift off, Wilson jerked awake again.
Hearing House come back into the room, Wilson tensed up. He relaxed a little when House got into bed instead of packing up his things but, after a minute or so, wondered if that actually meant anything. Other than House not wanting to bother leaving or sleeping on the couch that was. Wilson’s stomach tightened, therefore, when House pressed up against his back.
“Yeah,” Wilson replied after a moment spent trying to get his vocal cords to work. His voice came out extremely hoarse though anyway.
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After another aborted attempt to say something, House hesitated before he turned his face up towards Wilson's hair. He pressed his face into it and breathed in deeply just as he reached his hand under the covers and placed it on Wilson's upper arm, and started to lightly rub it.
He still couldn't make himself say that he was sorry and decided that his said enough for now. Pulling his face away from Wilson's hair, he pressed into the back of his neck instead and sighed quietly as he gave Wilson's arm a light squeeze.
"It's always about sex," House murmured after a stretch of silence. He paused and swallowed, squeezing Wilson's arm again. He thought back over what Wilson had said earlier in the night, about making this work, about what they could have. And how House could picture that and wanted that. "This... this matters more than that," he added hesitantly but earnestly.
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Reaching back, Wilson’s hand settled onto House’s hip, holding him in place. House was right, of course. All their problems did come from sex, in one way or another. Everything else about their relationship, the way they fit together, the companionship, their… love for each other, that was what House meant by ‘this’ Wilson was sure.
“So, what do you suggest? We stop having sex?” Wilson asked wryly, his voice still hoarse. There was no way Wilson wanted that, despite everything. He didn’t know if he could handle not being able to touch House or have House touch him.
But… if it meant things would stop being so messed up, if it meant they could stop fighting, Wilson would give it up. Because House was right about ‘this’ mattering so much more than sex.
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Sarcastic remarks and jokes fired through his mind, and as much as it seemed easier to just reply with one of those, House bit them back. Now wasn't the time to be sarcastic. He was serious when he said this mattered too much. Even if he never talked seriously to Wilson about this again, he wanted to at least be serious about it now. It was the least he could do, considering how much this did mean to him.
He tightened his grip on Wilson's arm as if to hold him, to stop Wilson from possibly rolling over to face him. If he was going to be serious, it was easier if Wilson wasn't looking at him.
"That's not going to work," House replied. He paused and almost gave into the safety net of cracking a joke, but swallowed it back. "I want you too much."
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“Me too,” Wilson admitted quietly and then moved to take House’s hand off his arm to hold it against his chest. They needed to do something though, because obviously what they had been doing so far wasn’t working. But what was there? Couples therapy? Wilson mentally snorted at that idea. Getting House into any kind of therapy on his own was impossible. Going in together was just as unlikely.
House was more likely to dance rings around the therapist than ‘share his feelings’.
Wilson sighed. He had no workable ideas except to do what they’d already been doing - stumbling along like people in the dark, and hope they’d eventually find their way.
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That was part of why House wasn't very good at the relationship thing. Not just because he could tend to say insensitive things, or because he could get overly jealous and possessive, or because he could come across as aloof when he wasn't comfortable with something. But because he truly didn't know what he was doing. He felt like he was stumbling through the dark, his feelings battling against his thoughts.
Because he'd already started talking about this, he found himself wanting to just say it all now while the moment presented itself. If he stopped and shut off, he was likely not going to open up again. He slipped his hand from Wilson's chest back up to his arm and gripped it to keep Wilson from moving or rolling over.
"It... it used to matter that you're a guy," he continued, trying to sound a lot more casual than he was actually feeling. "That was all that mattered. And then that stopped mattering so much and I didn't know why. All I did know was that you mattered more than what gender you are."
He paused. He wasn't sure what point he was trying to get at. He squeezed Wilson's arm again. "I..." he continued and then stopped, trying to work out what he wanted to say. "I know now why it stopped mattering. And I'm not going to spell it out for you, because I don't need to."
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“That… that doesn’t make anything necessarily easier though. It just means…” Wilson smiled briefly. “It just means we’re stuck with each other.” Wilson paused for a moment and pressed his hand that had been holding House’s, until House had pulled away, flat to the mattress.
“I think we both knew this was never going to be easy and never mind all the… the sexuality issues. We are who we are.” Wilson curled his legs a little so House could fit better against his back. “Maybe we just need to… to relax. To stop second guessing everything. And maybe that will only come with time.”
Wilson supposed it was also important to remember that their relationship was still very new. If he remembered right, the first time they’d slept together had been at the end of March. And it was only the start of May now. Wilson tried to turn and see House, but House’s hand on his arm prevented him from moving far and he slumped back again. “We’ve got time,” he said, partly a statement, partly a question and partly a proposition.
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"Yeah," he replied belatedly. "We have."
House tended to forget, because of how much had happened in such a short space of time, that it had only been a matter of about two months or less. It seemed, on one hand, like months and months had passed. And on the other hand, it seemed like everything had flown by in a matter of a week. Because of how intense everything had been, House sometimes found it difficult to remember Wilson and himself before all of this happened, when they were just friends. In some ways, it felt like more had happened between them in the last couple of months than the entire ten years they'd known each other.
"I've been stuck with you for the last ten years," House continued after a beat of silence, now smiling faintly as he felt himself starting to relax. "If I couldn't find an escape route in the ten years I've known you, then I doubt there's going to be one in years to come."
He was joking, of course. In an affectionate way. He released his hold on Wilson's arm and rubbed it briefly before gripping it again, this time to urge Wilson to turn towards him.
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“Maybe we also need to remember that we have been friends for ten years,” Wilson said. “Being… lovers shouldn’t make us foreign to each other, even if it is a foreign situation.”
Not giving House a chance to respond to that, Wilson leaned in and kissed him lightly. After pulling back to meet House’s eyes again, Wilson leant in to kiss him again. This time he gently deepened the kiss and slid his hand down to slip under House’s shirt so he could touch bare skin.
It was almost in an absent way that Wilson realised he was getting hard against House’s hip. This had to be some kind of record number of erections without orgasming, Wilson thought. He rubbed himself slowly against House’s hip, biting back a low groan.
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The kiss intensified from deep to passionate, House propping himself up onto his elbow so he could lean over Wilson. He gripped Wilson's hip and pulled Wilson against him as he urged his own hips forward, breathing quickly against Wilson's lips before he had to pull away for a breath of air.
He studied Wilson's face through the darkness and then leaned back in, kissing him firmly with a quiet moan as he slid his hand up over Wilson's hip. He pushed it under the elastic of his sweatpants, scooping Wilson's ass cheek in his palm and squeezed it.
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Wilson gasped quietly into House’s mouth at the feel of House’s hand on his ass and rocked his hips forward again.. Moving a hand to the crotch of House’s pants, Wilson rubbed House’s erection through the fabric before cupping his balls.
Drawing House’s tongue into his mouth, Wilson sucked on it while slipping his hand into House’s pants. He wrapped his fingers around House’s cock and started to slowly stroke him, teasing the head and slit with his thumb.
Wilson’s other hand travelled over House’s back, massaging and rubbing. His tongue tangled with House’s before Wilson dragged his lips away to mouth over House’s jaw to his neck. Wilson sucked lightly at the skin there and began to stroke House faster.
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