Aces High (All Bets Off Remix) [House, MD; James Wilson/Gregory House]
Title: Aces High (All Bets Off Remix)
Author: sabinelagrande
Summary: It was supposed to be a going away party, complete with drinks, food, and girls. Instead, Wilson got himself in a whole mess of trouble.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: House, MD
Warnings: Solo, voyeurism
Spoilers: Set between All In and the end of the world.
A/N: Many thanks to erindizmo, arymabeth, and dixie_chicken for holding my little hand as I wrote this.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Joker's Wild by topaz_eyes, http://www.the-archive.net/viewstory.php?sid=5886
Wilson was riding the wave of adrenaline as he and House sat, glued to the television, not saying a word as the panicked staff busied themselves around them. It had been a bizarre day in diagnostics. House and his team had saved the Alston boy; but what good was that now? That Cuddy seemed intent on barricading the hospital just made things all the more surreal.
On top of that, Wilson's bank seemed to have gone under, taking several thousand dollars with it. This boded very badly for his (and House's) future comfort. So life was bad. Life was really, really bad. Not even Cuddy could lighten his spirits. Speaking of which…
"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" Cuddy asked from behind them. She had changed from her normal suit and pumps into some kind of bizarre crossbreed of a hazmat suit and scrubs.
"Well, well, Dr. Cuddy," House said suggestively. "Here to give me a last goodbye?"
"Move it, guys," Cuddy said, scowling at them, "I'm kicking you out. We gotta move this stuff in front of the doors. The clinic'll be overrun in ten minutes." She smiled sadly. "And you two might as well get out of here."
At that point, House rolled his eyes. "You do realize that you're going to need more help if you're actually going to go through with this," Wilson pointed out.
"Yes, of which I'm becoming increasingly aware. But you have other things you should be doing. Both of you," she added, gazing pointedly at House.
"What? What did I do?"
"Don't pretend like nobody saw that puppy dog face," Wilson said lightly. "It doesn't work, you know. I've tried."
"Okay, boys," Cuddy said, and nodded. Two orderlies stood at each end of the couch and lifted it.
"You could at least let us get up first!" Wilson protested. House and Wilson hopped up just before the couch was carried off. Cuddy shook her head.
"Fine, we're going," Wilson sighed.
"I want you to be careful-" Cuddy started, her voice choked with emotion, but House cut her off, wrapping her in a one armed hug.
"Take care of the twins for me," he told her, punctuating his sentence with a friendly pat on the ass, and Cuddy smiled at him.
The rest of the day passed quickly, just the way you would expect that your last day on earth would pass. The Alston boy broke out of the hospital, and he wasn't the only one. Since being saved really didn't matter anymore, no one really cared to stop them. House's lackeys had long since gone home, overwhelmed from so much work and so little apparent reason… or that had been Foreman's excuse, anyway. Chase and Cameron's had been a bit more direct. Wilson, however, had no way of knowing this; he'd driven all the way to the coast, just for the hell of it.
This was all pretty fucked up, in Wilson's view. He started out at the water that rolled in great booming splashes onto the beach. It was now one more thing to scratch off his "before I die" list. He'd kept it in his wallet for god knows how long- a little morbid, sure, but at least he'd been prepared when the time came. He'd make sure to leave it somewhere conspicuous before tomorrow, just in case. How very odd that he actually got around to using it.
Sitting on the hood next to him, House sighed. "Are you done?" he asked, climbing unsteadily down from the car. "You've had your moment. Time to say goodbye now. Time to go home."
Wilson looked up at the sound of House's voice. "Only one thing left to do," he said. "Get trashed and wait for midnight."
"You read my mind." House grinned. "What kind of pizza am I buying?"
"You're paying? It really is the end of the world."
"Of course it is." House sighed, obviously resigned to their inexorable fate. Wilson slid down from his perch, took one last look, and they left.
~~~~~
Back at House's apartment, by nine o'clock the pizza lay forgotten on the table. Wilson was still on that fine line between tipsy and drunk, but House was three sheets to the wind, getting in one final "fuck you" to his liver. A three-fourths-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, an almost full fifth of Captain Morgan, and two little bottles of some strange blue liquor House had picked up in some foreign country sat on the coffee table between them. He sprawled across the sofa, pleasantly dizzy, willing himself to stay awake, but failing. House, sitting next to him with his feet up on the table, suddenly got up, plucking a DVD case from the shelf.
House whacked him on the arm. "Hey, wake up! You'll miss the show."
Wilson opened an eye, looking at him. "Yeah, yeah. 'M awake. What's on?"
House waved the luridly colored DVD case at him. "Cherry Luscious in XXXtra Creamy."
"Is this the one where she deep-throats Long Dong Silver at the end?" Wilson said, without thinking. That was probably way too specific.
"Yep. It's just starting." House sat back down and pointed the remote at the TV.
Wilson unsteadily pushed himself up. "Wait, I'll be back."
In the bathroom, Wilson shook his head. It had been a weird ass forty-eight hours, all things considered, and really, there was nothing to be done but to end it all drunk and watching porn with House. When he pictured what his last day on earth would be like (if Wilson ever admitted how often that he thought about such a thing), this never even entered contemplation.
The whole thing tonight was made weirder by the fact that House had inadvertently picked his favorite porn. He wasn't quite sure that was something he should think even when he was almost drunk, but Wilson didn't really want to consider it. Not with his brain, or with any of the other parts he was very prone to thinking with. At least it was a familiar kind of predicament Wilson found himself in; god knows it'd been going on for years.
Wilson splashed his face and walked back into the living room; he sat down and reached for one of the smaller liquor bottles, knocking it back as the show started. Cherry Luscious was just about as hot as a woman could possibly get, Wilson had decided. House probably wouldn't agree; he'd never gotten over his fixation on short, brown-headed girls. What House probably didn't realize is that Wilson was just as intent on Long Dong, bad porn mustache and all.
Wilson was vaguely aware, in a general sort of way, of the fact that time was passing, but he really wasn't all that interested in it. Some tiny voice of the back of his mind said that he should probably be doing something more important with his time, but then Cherry Luscious was lowering her gorgeous mouth over Long Dong, and he forgot to think about it.
House, obviously, wasn't so into it. He sat at the end of the couch, looking at the TV as if it was something akin to a nature documentary. He kept squirming uncomfortably, shifting and sighing like there was someplace else he'd rather be. Wilson was almost to the point of getting annoyed. It had been House's idea in the first place- he couldn't help it if he was enjoying himself.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" came the voice at the other end of the sofa. "If you need to jack off, there's a perfectly good--"
Maybe it was a joke, or maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was T-minus two and a half hours until their appointed destruction, but Wilson undid his belt buckle.
Whatever House was going to say was lost, his features frozen in a textbook "deer in headlights" expression. That was strange. Wilson was expecting a laugh, at least, or maybe to be shouted off the couch. He upped the ante, dragging his zipper down experimentally, and House's eyes grew wider.
House just kept staring at him, slack jawed, as Wilson eased his pants down to his thighs. Wilson couldn't stop himself from groaning as he wrapped his hand around his cock.
Well. If asked, he probably couldn't have traced back how he got to this point, but now he was all in.
He shifted deeper into the couch cushions, making himself comfortable. His cheeks were on fire; he was certain he was probably dark red by now.
He sighed again, and he could feel House tense up through the sofa. Wilson ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, smoothing the moisture there over the head, and House gulped audibly.
He didn't-- couldn't-- look at House. Wilson couldn't decide what he'd see written on House's face- lust, shock, revulsion, fascination, it all seemed equally unbearable. It was all he could do to listen, House's ragged breathing just barely perceptible underneath the canned moans from the television.
He was starting to sweat now, his hair sticking uncomfortably to his forehead. He blinked open his eyes for the briefest fraction of a second, and House was staring at him like Wilson was a glass of water and he was dying of thirst.
Wilson was pretty sure he was going to drown.
The thought occurred to him that if he stopped-if he pulled his pants back on, punched House on the arm and called him a homo like a manly man-he could stop this. But to his uncomfortable surprise, he needed to know what this meant: was this the embarrassed indulgence of a drunken friend, or was it something else entirely?
Wilson tried to divine some meaning from House's desperate breathing, but it was pointless. Wilson swallowed as House shifted on the couch-to watch, or to look away? The thought of House's eyes on him as he did this sent a shiver up his spine, and he couldn't help thrusting his hips up into his hand.
House was probably getting hard watching him like this; Wilson could feel him shifting on the couch beside him. He drove his free hand into his thigh, trying to distract himself from that thought before it sent him right over the edge. Just the thought of House being here, watching him, was almost too much-and that was almost too weird for him to handle.
"Oh yeah, yeah, baby, get ready to drink my cream," the disembodied voice from the screen grunted, and Wilson worked himself faster. He didn't bother to open his eyes-he'd seen the scene so many times that he'd practically worn it out. He was so, so close…
"Here it comes, baby, here it comes!"
On screen, Long Dong spent himself all over Luscious Cherry's face. Except that behind Wilson's eyelids, it was his mouth, wide open to catch House's come.
Caught off guard, he stilled his hand for just a second-where the fuck had that image come from?
"Gunh--hnnh!" Wilson groaned, trying to get out House's first name but catching himself, and he was coming, covering himself with warm, sticky fluid, his hips bucking off the couch, riding it out.
He all but collapsed into the couch, spent but, somehow, not really satisfied. He had the sudden realization that if he didn't open his eyes, didn't regain control of this moment, that House was going to get the wrong idea entirely. How the hell had this happened? But by the time he could bear to open his eyes, House was gone.
It was already ten o'clock, and time was slipping away rapidly, but he just didn't have the heart to follow House to his bedroom-not yet, not until he figured out what the hell he was going to say when he got there. He could hear House going about his bedtime routine, brushing his teeth noisily down the hall, the door open as usual.
The thought occurred to him that he might should be pissed off-he was the one who was the free show, apparently, and House had just left him hanging. That thought didn't get him anywhere, especially since it had all, ostensibly, been his idea anyway. The thought that he wanted to do that for-maybe with-possibly at House didn't bother him as much as it really should have.
What the fuck was that about?
He sat on the couch, listening for House to close the door to his bedroom before getting up and walking towards the bathroom. He rested his fingers on the door knob of House's room for just a moment, toyed with opening it, but gave it up, finally, and he walked on to the toilet and relieved himself.
There were noises from House's room, noises that he'd heard on many nights from behind that same door. He never even really thought about it before-it was what guys did, wasn’t it? It was his damn apartment, after all, and it wasn't Wilson's business.
But right now what he really wanted to do was open the door, climb onto the bed and take House into his mouth.
What the fuck--?
He staggered back to the couch, holding his head on one hand.
He didn't know how long he sat there, just staring at the blank television screen, trying to make his head stop running in circles.
He and House had been friends more or less since they met. House was his friend-and just that, no more, no less. Wilson wasn't quite sure when he had stopped thinking House as just a friend-quite possibly it hadn't happened until a few hours ago. Some days, he could have sworn that House kept him around just because he was a puzzle. Wilson didn't help it, really, the way he kept things away from him, like having the sudden and undeniable urge to suck him off.
No, no, NO. This didn't lead anywhere good, and he didn't have the time to worry about it. The red numbers on the DVD player clicked forward-T minus 105 minutes until the end of the world.
House flirted with him, certainly, but Wilson had never thought there could be something behind it. There wasn't-it was just a guy thing, like so many other things they did.
But this was all moving too fast, all coming out wrong.
Why not?
He swore to himself as another minute passed by. There wasn't time to list all the reasons.
But maybe-maybe it didn't matter. He'd done it on purpose, willingly let House see what he really wanted. The ball was in House's court now, wasn't it?
Wilson was all in from the start, wasn't he?
It wasn't like it made a difference, because he knew full well that House would be paralyzed. It was too much, far too much for him to process so quickly. Wilson must be an idiot, clearly. Unless House was some kind of psychic (which was incredibly unlikely, but stranger things were happening), how was he supposed to even know what that little act meant.
Especially when Wilson didn't know?
He started when he heard a board in the hallway creak. He swallowed hard, looking straight ahead.
When he finally found the nerve to turn and look at House, the other man was giving him his best deer in the headlights impression. Wilson waited for House to speak, to give him an answer.
To what question, Wilson didn't know.
No matter what happened, things couldn't continue as they were. Regardless of whether they stood here and gaped at each other or professed their undying love, time was moving on. It was a high stakes game, and there were no second chances.
Wilson realized that it was his to lose.
House looked like he was about to say something, but goddammit, there were more important things to be doing than talking. And suddenly, improbably, Wilson was moving, closing the distance between them, pressing his lips against House's. The other man groaned, all his body relaxing, as if he'd been waiting for this moment.
"Tell me tomorrow," Wilson said, his voice thick. He turned and walked back to the bedroom, his steps followed closely by House's, and he did not look back.
Author: sabinelagrande
Summary: It was supposed to be a going away party, complete with drinks, food, and girls. Instead, Wilson got himself in a whole mess of trouble.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: House, MD
Warnings: Solo, voyeurism
Spoilers: Set between All In and the end of the world.
A/N: Many thanks to erindizmo, arymabeth, and dixie_chicken for holding my little hand as I wrote this.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Joker's Wild by topaz_eyes, http://www.the-archive.net/viewstory.php?sid=5886
Wilson was riding the wave of adrenaline as he and House sat, glued to the television, not saying a word as the panicked staff busied themselves around them. It had been a bizarre day in diagnostics. House and his team had saved the Alston boy; but what good was that now? That Cuddy seemed intent on barricading the hospital just made things all the more surreal.
On top of that, Wilson's bank seemed to have gone under, taking several thousand dollars with it. This boded very badly for his (and House's) future comfort. So life was bad. Life was really, really bad. Not even Cuddy could lighten his spirits. Speaking of which…
"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" Cuddy asked from behind them. She had changed from her normal suit and pumps into some kind of bizarre crossbreed of a hazmat suit and scrubs.
"Well, well, Dr. Cuddy," House said suggestively. "Here to give me a last goodbye?"
"Move it, guys," Cuddy said, scowling at them, "I'm kicking you out. We gotta move this stuff in front of the doors. The clinic'll be overrun in ten minutes." She smiled sadly. "And you two might as well get out of here."
At that point, House rolled his eyes. "You do realize that you're going to need more help if you're actually going to go through with this," Wilson pointed out.
"Yes, of which I'm becoming increasingly aware. But you have other things you should be doing. Both of you," she added, gazing pointedly at House.
"What? What did I do?"
"Don't pretend like nobody saw that puppy dog face," Wilson said lightly. "It doesn't work, you know. I've tried."
"Okay, boys," Cuddy said, and nodded. Two orderlies stood at each end of the couch and lifted it.
"You could at least let us get up first!" Wilson protested. House and Wilson hopped up just before the couch was carried off. Cuddy shook her head.
"Fine, we're going," Wilson sighed.
"I want you to be careful-" Cuddy started, her voice choked with emotion, but House cut her off, wrapping her in a one armed hug.
"Take care of the twins for me," he told her, punctuating his sentence with a friendly pat on the ass, and Cuddy smiled at him.
The rest of the day passed quickly, just the way you would expect that your last day on earth would pass. The Alston boy broke out of the hospital, and he wasn't the only one. Since being saved really didn't matter anymore, no one really cared to stop them. House's lackeys had long since gone home, overwhelmed from so much work and so little apparent reason… or that had been Foreman's excuse, anyway. Chase and Cameron's had been a bit more direct. Wilson, however, had no way of knowing this; he'd driven all the way to the coast, just for the hell of it.
This was all pretty fucked up, in Wilson's view. He started out at the water that rolled in great booming splashes onto the beach. It was now one more thing to scratch off his "before I die" list. He'd kept it in his wallet for god knows how long- a little morbid, sure, but at least he'd been prepared when the time came. He'd make sure to leave it somewhere conspicuous before tomorrow, just in case. How very odd that he actually got around to using it.
Sitting on the hood next to him, House sighed. "Are you done?" he asked, climbing unsteadily down from the car. "You've had your moment. Time to say goodbye now. Time to go home."
Wilson looked up at the sound of House's voice. "Only one thing left to do," he said. "Get trashed and wait for midnight."
"You read my mind." House grinned. "What kind of pizza am I buying?"
"You're paying? It really is the end of the world."
"Of course it is." House sighed, obviously resigned to their inexorable fate. Wilson slid down from his perch, took one last look, and they left.
~~~~~
Back at House's apartment, by nine o'clock the pizza lay forgotten on the table. Wilson was still on that fine line between tipsy and drunk, but House was three sheets to the wind, getting in one final "fuck you" to his liver. A three-fourths-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, an almost full fifth of Captain Morgan, and two little bottles of some strange blue liquor House had picked up in some foreign country sat on the coffee table between them. He sprawled across the sofa, pleasantly dizzy, willing himself to stay awake, but failing. House, sitting next to him with his feet up on the table, suddenly got up, plucking a DVD case from the shelf.
House whacked him on the arm. "Hey, wake up! You'll miss the show."
Wilson opened an eye, looking at him. "Yeah, yeah. 'M awake. What's on?"
House waved the luridly colored DVD case at him. "Cherry Luscious in XXXtra Creamy."
"Is this the one where she deep-throats Long Dong Silver at the end?" Wilson said, without thinking. That was probably way too specific.
"Yep. It's just starting." House sat back down and pointed the remote at the TV.
Wilson unsteadily pushed himself up. "Wait, I'll be back."
In the bathroom, Wilson shook his head. It had been a weird ass forty-eight hours, all things considered, and really, there was nothing to be done but to end it all drunk and watching porn with House. When he pictured what his last day on earth would be like (if Wilson ever admitted how often that he thought about such a thing), this never even entered contemplation.
The whole thing tonight was made weirder by the fact that House had inadvertently picked his favorite porn. He wasn't quite sure that was something he should think even when he was almost drunk, but Wilson didn't really want to consider it. Not with his brain, or with any of the other parts he was very prone to thinking with. At least it was a familiar kind of predicament Wilson found himself in; god knows it'd been going on for years.
Wilson splashed his face and walked back into the living room; he sat down and reached for one of the smaller liquor bottles, knocking it back as the show started. Cherry Luscious was just about as hot as a woman could possibly get, Wilson had decided. House probably wouldn't agree; he'd never gotten over his fixation on short, brown-headed girls. What House probably didn't realize is that Wilson was just as intent on Long Dong, bad porn mustache and all.
Wilson was vaguely aware, in a general sort of way, of the fact that time was passing, but he really wasn't all that interested in it. Some tiny voice of the back of his mind said that he should probably be doing something more important with his time, but then Cherry Luscious was lowering her gorgeous mouth over Long Dong, and he forgot to think about it.
House, obviously, wasn't so into it. He sat at the end of the couch, looking at the TV as if it was something akin to a nature documentary. He kept squirming uncomfortably, shifting and sighing like there was someplace else he'd rather be. Wilson was almost to the point of getting annoyed. It had been House's idea in the first place- he couldn't help it if he was enjoying himself.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" came the voice at the other end of the sofa. "If you need to jack off, there's a perfectly good--"
Maybe it was a joke, or maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was T-minus two and a half hours until their appointed destruction, but Wilson undid his belt buckle.
Whatever House was going to say was lost, his features frozen in a textbook "deer in headlights" expression. That was strange. Wilson was expecting a laugh, at least, or maybe to be shouted off the couch. He upped the ante, dragging his zipper down experimentally, and House's eyes grew wider.
House just kept staring at him, slack jawed, as Wilson eased his pants down to his thighs. Wilson couldn't stop himself from groaning as he wrapped his hand around his cock.
Well. If asked, he probably couldn't have traced back how he got to this point, but now he was all in.
He shifted deeper into the couch cushions, making himself comfortable. His cheeks were on fire; he was certain he was probably dark red by now.
He sighed again, and he could feel House tense up through the sofa. Wilson ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, smoothing the moisture there over the head, and House gulped audibly.
He didn't-- couldn't-- look at House. Wilson couldn't decide what he'd see written on House's face- lust, shock, revulsion, fascination, it all seemed equally unbearable. It was all he could do to listen, House's ragged breathing just barely perceptible underneath the canned moans from the television.
He was starting to sweat now, his hair sticking uncomfortably to his forehead. He blinked open his eyes for the briefest fraction of a second, and House was staring at him like Wilson was a glass of water and he was dying of thirst.
Wilson was pretty sure he was going to drown.
The thought occurred to him that if he stopped-if he pulled his pants back on, punched House on the arm and called him a homo like a manly man-he could stop this. But to his uncomfortable surprise, he needed to know what this meant: was this the embarrassed indulgence of a drunken friend, or was it something else entirely?
Wilson tried to divine some meaning from House's desperate breathing, but it was pointless. Wilson swallowed as House shifted on the couch-to watch, or to look away? The thought of House's eyes on him as he did this sent a shiver up his spine, and he couldn't help thrusting his hips up into his hand.
House was probably getting hard watching him like this; Wilson could feel him shifting on the couch beside him. He drove his free hand into his thigh, trying to distract himself from that thought before it sent him right over the edge. Just the thought of House being here, watching him, was almost too much-and that was almost too weird for him to handle.
"Oh yeah, yeah, baby, get ready to drink my cream," the disembodied voice from the screen grunted, and Wilson worked himself faster. He didn't bother to open his eyes-he'd seen the scene so many times that he'd practically worn it out. He was so, so close…
"Here it comes, baby, here it comes!"
On screen, Long Dong spent himself all over Luscious Cherry's face. Except that behind Wilson's eyelids, it was his mouth, wide open to catch House's come.
Caught off guard, he stilled his hand for just a second-where the fuck had that image come from?
"Gunh--hnnh!" Wilson groaned, trying to get out House's first name but catching himself, and he was coming, covering himself with warm, sticky fluid, his hips bucking off the couch, riding it out.
He all but collapsed into the couch, spent but, somehow, not really satisfied. He had the sudden realization that if he didn't open his eyes, didn't regain control of this moment, that House was going to get the wrong idea entirely. How the hell had this happened? But by the time he could bear to open his eyes, House was gone.
It was already ten o'clock, and time was slipping away rapidly, but he just didn't have the heart to follow House to his bedroom-not yet, not until he figured out what the hell he was going to say when he got there. He could hear House going about his bedtime routine, brushing his teeth noisily down the hall, the door open as usual.
The thought occurred to him that he might should be pissed off-he was the one who was the free show, apparently, and House had just left him hanging. That thought didn't get him anywhere, especially since it had all, ostensibly, been his idea anyway. The thought that he wanted to do that for-maybe with-possibly at House didn't bother him as much as it really should have.
What the fuck was that about?
He sat on the couch, listening for House to close the door to his bedroom before getting up and walking towards the bathroom. He rested his fingers on the door knob of House's room for just a moment, toyed with opening it, but gave it up, finally, and he walked on to the toilet and relieved himself.
There were noises from House's room, noises that he'd heard on many nights from behind that same door. He never even really thought about it before-it was what guys did, wasn’t it? It was his damn apartment, after all, and it wasn't Wilson's business.
But right now what he really wanted to do was open the door, climb onto the bed and take House into his mouth.
What the fuck--?
He staggered back to the couch, holding his head on one hand.
He didn't know how long he sat there, just staring at the blank television screen, trying to make his head stop running in circles.
He and House had been friends more or less since they met. House was his friend-and just that, no more, no less. Wilson wasn't quite sure when he had stopped thinking House as just a friend-quite possibly it hadn't happened until a few hours ago. Some days, he could have sworn that House kept him around just because he was a puzzle. Wilson didn't help it, really, the way he kept things away from him, like having the sudden and undeniable urge to suck him off.
No, no, NO. This didn't lead anywhere good, and he didn't have the time to worry about it. The red numbers on the DVD player clicked forward-T minus 105 minutes until the end of the world.
House flirted with him, certainly, but Wilson had never thought there could be something behind it. There wasn't-it was just a guy thing, like so many other things they did.
But this was all moving too fast, all coming out wrong.
Why not?
He swore to himself as another minute passed by. There wasn't time to list all the reasons.
But maybe-maybe it didn't matter. He'd done it on purpose, willingly let House see what he really wanted. The ball was in House's court now, wasn't it?
Wilson was all in from the start, wasn't he?
It wasn't like it made a difference, because he knew full well that House would be paralyzed. It was too much, far too much for him to process so quickly. Wilson must be an idiot, clearly. Unless House was some kind of psychic (which was incredibly unlikely, but stranger things were happening), how was he supposed to even know what that little act meant.
Especially when Wilson didn't know?
He started when he heard a board in the hallway creak. He swallowed hard, looking straight ahead.
When he finally found the nerve to turn and look at House, the other man was giving him his best deer in the headlights impression. Wilson waited for House to speak, to give him an answer.
To what question, Wilson didn't know.
No matter what happened, things couldn't continue as they were. Regardless of whether they stood here and gaped at each other or professed their undying love, time was moving on. It was a high stakes game, and there were no second chances.
Wilson realized that it was his to lose.
House looked like he was about to say something, but goddammit, there were more important things to be doing than talking. And suddenly, improbably, Wilson was moving, closing the distance between them, pressing his lips against House's. The other man groaned, all his body relaxing, as if he'd been waiting for this moment.
"Tell me tomorrow," Wilson said, his voice thick. He turned and walked back to the bedroom, his steps followed closely by House's, and he did not look back.