Hey Wilson! I'm gonna cut some cripple's eye out. Wanna come watch?
Fandom: House M.D.
Pairing/Characters: House/Wilson. ...obviously.
Rating: About PG. ...not-so-obviously. It'll be higher for Part II. >w>
Title: Mostly Sober (Part 1/?)
Disclaimer: OMG QUEER ALERT, QUEER ALERT. Seriously, if the House/Wilson part wasn't tipping you off... Also, this was...kinda-sorta written a while ago. Like, months. :'D That's my story and I'm sticking to it. *shot*
Muscle memory guiding his hands, House looked up at his current ‘roommate’ over the lid of the piano.
It was so strange, really, that the man stuck around, and yet it was practically expected. Wilson seemed to have a way of seeking out “hurt” individuals and attaching himself to them. Except unlike a leech, he gave; the only things he took (in House’s opinion) was several hours’ worth of his time with speeches about ridiculous things. Things such as not mentioning the great view he had of Cuddy’s chest from his position, or how flamboyantly coifed Chase’s hair was that day.
Of course, for people like Wilson’s wives, that trait also seemed to always backfire. He’d give, nurture, and sweet-talk the other person back to a state deemed fairly normal. And then he’d cheat on them.
Not a good outcome, really.
“Um...House?”
The diagnostician blinked, shifting his gaze from over his friend’s left shoulder to his pair of wide eyes. Too wide - he was worried. “Um, Wilson?” he mimicked.
“You stopped playing.”
House finally registered that his fingers were no longer moving over the keys. “Well, it’s not like I was getting tips based on my performance. I assumed taking breaks was okay.”
“Don’t tell me the ever-wisecracking Dr. House was contemplating something?”
“Well, you caught me.” He lurched to his feet and walked back around the bench.
“Ha.” Wilson settled back into the couch. With a flick of his wrist, he downed another swig of (House’s) beer. “Oh, to know what goes through that follically-challenged head of yours.”
“Hey, leave the wisecracks to the masters, young padawan.” House fell back gracelessly onto the sofa, grabbing the beer bottle from the oncologist.
“What were you thinking about?” Wilson made to grab his drink back, but a few swings from House’s cane and he’d given up on that idea.
Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, House responded, “Just contemplating how all of your romantic relationships have been doomed to failure.”
Some of his good humor leaving his eyes, Wilson shoved himself off the couch. “As much as I’d love to discuss that with you, I’m gonna go get another beer.”
The creaking sounds followed by a familiarly irregular rhythm was his tip that House wasn’t going to stop just yet. “I mean, think about it. You attach yourself to people like a leech.”
“Hard to imagine anyone who does things like that,” Wilson grumbled, practically taking out House’s cane when he opened the fridge.
House, however, hardly even registered he’d heard the interruption. “You find the weirdest, most pathetic woman you can because you have some need to fix them. Then, once they’re all better and not popping Prozacs anymore, they’re back to boring.”
Wilson sat back down on the couch, gulping down his beer a bit desperately. “Well, thank you for witling down my failed marriages to the core of hopelessness they are.”
“Just call me Oprah!” Wilson snorted at the older man’s batting eyes, then paused.
“House?” A thought was starting to hit him.
“Yes, darling?”
Was it possible to shove that much sarcasm into just two words? “Why are you thinking about my love life, anyway?”
“Other than the fact that it’s caused you to be sharing my apartment with me?” House was looking at him with a face usually reserved for particularly dense clinic patients. “You’re even slower when you’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“I am not drunk, House.” Though now that the older man had mentioned it, he might be. Hell if he’d admit it, though.
House snorted before finishing off his own beer.
“So how come we work so well, then?”
Depositing the empty bottle on his coffee table, House said, mock-touched, “You mean you think we’ve really got a chance?”
Wilson stared down the wide, electric blues eyes in front of him, which was harder than it usually would be. The warmth in his stomach and throat reminded him how much he’d drunk that night - made sense he’d be a little tipsy. “You know what I meant, House. You’re the reigning king of neediness - how do you explain us working, then?”
“It’s pretty simple, really. Your wives all admitted how much they needed you.”
“Yeah, well, they also eventually got...better...” Something about House’s expression and words suddenly caught up with his foggy brain, and his eyes narrowed reflexively. “Did you just admit you needed me?”
House’s focused gaze shifted uncomfortably, and he twirled his cane through the fingers of his left hand. Wilson just stared. “Are...are you drunk?” The other man’s eyes snapped back to his face, and an unspoken injury in them had Wilson backpedaling. “I mean...not that I don’t think you...I just...you don’t usually admit stuff like that.” He watched House’s face relax, the shadows across it seeming to smooth out.
Reassured by House’s alcohol-assisted calm (as well as his own), he smiled back. The shadows on his own face deepened when he did that, as if showing off his almost ridiculously high cheekbones. House let out something between a chuckle and a snort, and Wilson cocked a thick eyebrow. “Do I wanna know?”
Normally, House would have just made up something insulting or offensive to tell him. “I just realized that those sharp little cheekbones of yours are probably the toughest thing about you.” Okay, so alcohol didn’t really seem to help out that much. Still, Wilson stuck to the only thing he’d been given.
“Don’t tell me my boyish charms are distracting you from our conversation?” He grinned good-naturedly at his own barb, though House’s oddly serious tone threw him off.
“Who says I wasn’t talking about them already?”
Wilson blinked, about to ask House what he meant, when suddenly his mouth was hardly in a position to form a question...nor, to be fair, was his mind.
House was kissing him, hard on the mouth. One hand slipped behind Wilson’s neck, probably more to hold him still than just a romantic reaction on House’s part. Of all things that Wilson could have chose to say when the older doctor finally broke off from the kiss to breathe, his mouth chose, “That tickled.”
House chuckled, a wicked grin on his face, though his eyes were guarded in a way Wilson wasn’t used to seeing when he and House were alone.
“House, you...you just...kissed me.” Wow, his mouth was on a roll tonight.
Bright cerulean eyes widened. “Oh my god, really?!”
“H-house...” His would-be admonishing tone was somehow lessened by his stammer.
“Too soon, you think?” House put a finger to his stubbled chin. “Maybe I should have tried chocolate first...”
Wilson, though warm with alcohol (and now, something else, for the moment unidentifiable) and shocked, could still read his friend’s attempt at playing off the situation as a joke. “No...”
A distinctly worried gaze met his before the diagnostician could flatten out his features again, sealing the deal in Wilson’s mind. “Don’t...it’s, it’s fine.” Feeling the corners of his mouth inexplicably pulled up, he added, “You’re not such a bad kisser anyway.” Tentatively, he leaned forward, towards the man he’d known longer than most of his wives. Somewhere among the different sensations (not to mention alcohol) running through him, Wilson was aware of how ridiculous this situation would have seemed to anyone else. Hell, he wasn't so sure he was getting his mind wrapped around it quite yet.
House, his expression flashing through different emotions so fast it almost dizzied Wilson’s booze-boggled mind to try to read them all, breathed, “You sure?” Alright, he’s definitely more sober than me, Wilson thought.
House chortled. “You might be surprised.”
...Apparently I said that out loud. Wilson nodded slowly.
Immediately House's mouth was crushed against his, as if the diagnostician was afraid he'd change his mind. And while that was a threat at first, as soon as House had managed to force his tongue into his mouth, any inhibitions Wilson might have still had were shoved to the side.
The older man's mouth was shockingly warm, though the hands cupping (more like grabbing) the back of Wilson's head were cool. Even with as many people as he’d kissed (having so many wives and affairs just may have been partially responsible for those numbers) Wilson wasn’t sure he’d ever kissed someone quite so...needily possessive as House was turning out to be. Still, the tongue currently trying to map out a path to his tonsils didn’t strike Wilson as any less compassionate than the others.
In fact, he thought as one of House’s hands moved down to grapple at the base of his neck, he could honestly say he’d never been kissed quite like this. His faintly beer-addled brain was still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not, however.
Gasping out loud (partially in surprise), his dissections of the situation were abruptly cut off as House broke away from his lips to lean down and suck on the side of his neck. Disengaging after a few more seconds, House looked Wilson in the eye, rather valiantly ignoring the fact that both were breathing considerably heavier than a few minutes before. “Stop analyzing it. It’s not everyone that gets treated to this.” House gestured vaguely back at himself, winking.
-------------------------
Aand seeing as this has been sitting around for long enough already, and I'm leaving soon, I'll cut it off there for now. >_____> Trust me, there's a Part II to this assuming anyone wants to read it. xD