Leg pains and fruits.
OGAD CRACK!FIC WARNING, EVERYONE. GET IN THE CAR.
So, this is a House/George fanfic, and yes. I mean Gregory House, snark extraordinaire, and George Harrison, Jesus!boy and the Quiet Beatle. If that's not enough of a disclaimer, I'm not sure how much clearer I can be. Now, if you're unfamiliar with /why/ this would ever occur even in the sickest of fantasies, I have two words for you: role playing. On roleplay comms, you get all sorts of characters from all sorts of situations. We happened to play Greg House and George Harrison, respectively, and they work rather well.
Well, enough of an explanation. On to the crack!
Title: My creative genius cannot be restricted to this. E______E -shot- Actually, I just can never think of titles.
Pairing: GEE, I WONDER... -tapchin- House/George/Georgeous's Hair
Rating: PG13, but only for using the letters "uckf" in an order I'm sure you've all used frequently and nigh-religiously when not in the presence of anyone's mother.
Disclaimer: Regrettably, I am forced to inform you that I own neither character. And if I did, I wouldn't share them with you anyway. E____E
Anything else: This fic starts off with House's thigh acting up due to breakthrough pain. It also rather conveniently starts at a point about ten minutes after George has discovered House in said state. (And yes, Kat, this is based off of our own RP -- however, I changed a good deal of things. xD Just wanted a redux of my own, since I liked the idea so much. C: Needed something to use my sudden creativity bug on. xD Hope you like it! C: )
House was rather uncomfortably aware of the damp fabric his face was currently burrowed in, but he found he didn’t have the heart to move his head. Especially since that would mean he’d be risking showing the owner of said fabric his face, which was hardly an option. He moaned low in his throat, unsuccessful yet again in an attempt to keep silent, though the tear-stained shirt in front of his mouth was at least kind enough to muffle the noise of it. Fuck. House’s upper body twitched in response to the renewed spasm in his thigh, one of his hands desperately clutching his leg as though he could scare it into compliance. The swear-filled mantra filling House’s head was momentarily interrupted as he went rigid to ride out the latest pain, silent this time because he’d forgotten to breathe. Once it had passed, he sighed in ironic relief, the hand not currently strangling his thigh shifting to fist a new section of the back of the man’s shirt.
Above him, House could now hear a low murmur of sound - probably mindless platitudes and assurances that yes, he was there for him. Not even focusing on the words enough to pick out something specific to scorn, House still snorted into George’s shirt. “Thank god you’re here to remind me how pathetic I look,” he commented, knowing at least one of the things to come out of the guitarist’s mouth had to be about how he ‘hated seeing him like this’. It was hardly fair (and quite possibly not accurate), and when George’s words stopped and the chest House was leaning into stiffened beneath his forehead, he couldn’t tell if it was from insult or worry over having offended him. House was distracted from analyzing it, however, by his traitorous (lack of) thigh muscle, and he groaned suddenly and dug his fingers further into his leg. George made a noise between a scoff and an ironic chuckle above him, and House frowned gravely at the man’s sternum. The steady wall of sound of George talking above his head started up again a few beats of silence later, however, and House could tell whatever incident had just happened had blown over.
House was still not focusing on the words themselves; instead on the tone of them, and how they vibrated into his chest from his position. At least if he ignored any comforting words the man was saying, he could safely listen to the drawling (albeit endearing) accent of his partner without snapping back at him. Probably. “You know I’m going to deny this ever happened later, right?” he mumbled. There was an answering chuckle, louder this time, above the top of his head but very near it - apparently George had tilted his own head forward against House’s.
“Would I really expect anything else?”
House let out a noncommittal noise that really tried its best to be a laugh, but got lost along the way. He groaned frustratedly against George’s chest a moment later, shifting away from the patch of fabric that was dampened by various fluids House liked to think he wasn’t capable of producing while alone, never mind when another person was around. Still, as the current spasm tapered down to a faint twitching of his thigh muscle, House tilted his head up far enough to connect his lips to George’s neck. This time, at least, House knew the other man was stiffening in surprise, though he quickly relaxed. House screwed his eyes shut, not so much against the pain as it was to concentrate on the feeling of George’s right hand shifting from his shoulder to his lower back, slowly massaging circles at random. The both of them silently resigned themselves to it, not without reservations but desperate enough for nothing to be broken once this was over to stick it out anyway. George couldn’t really decide what course of action was best, besides what he was currently doing - but despite his worry over not being enough help he was determined to make the attempt; and House was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t as allergic to caring as he thought.
-------
Several hours’ passing found the two in much the same positions as earlier, except that at some point House had relinquished his deathgrip both of his thigh and George’s shirt, and the other man had in turn tugged lose the bed’s blanket and pulled it over them. House was hugging himself about as close as physically possible to the shorter man, and despite the height difference he still had his head tucked up under the man’s chin. His breathing was no longer shallow and laboured, but it was enough to stir the dark strands of hair around George’s shoulders in his sleep. In turn, George had draped one arm across the doctor’s midriff, casually protective in slumber; his other hand had nestled itself in blonde hair.
-------
That morning when the cheerful sound of birds outside was enough to annoy him from sleep, House was momentarily confused as to why he was waking up in someone’s arms when no one was naked; as he recalled the night before, however, he sighed against George’s neck and watched a few dark locks flutter in the resultant breeze. Instead of speaking, he breathed in the distinctive scent of the other man, missing the feeling of skin on skin for an entirely different reason but still content enough not to move. He could wait another ten minutes before starting in on the comments about how wonderfully fruity George’s hair was looking that day.
So, this is a House/George fanfic, and yes. I mean Gregory House, snark extraordinaire, and George Harrison, Jesus!boy and the Quiet Beatle. If that's not enough of a disclaimer, I'm not sure how much clearer I can be. Now, if you're unfamiliar with /why/ this would ever occur even in the sickest of fantasies, I have two words for you: role playing. On roleplay comms, you get all sorts of characters from all sorts of situations. We happened to play Greg House and George Harrison, respectively, and they work rather well.
Well, enough of an explanation. On to the crack!
Title: My creative genius cannot be restricted to this. E______E -shot- Actually, I just can never think of titles.
Pairing: GEE, I WONDER... -tapchin- House/George/Georgeous's Hair
Rating: PG13, but only for using the letters "uckf" in an order I'm sure you've all used frequently and nigh-religiously when not in the presence of anyone's mother.
Disclaimer: Regrettably, I am forced to inform you that I own neither character. And if I did, I wouldn't share them with you anyway. E____E
Anything else: This fic starts off with House's thigh acting up due to breakthrough pain. It also rather conveniently starts at a point about ten minutes after George has discovered House in said state. (And yes, Kat, this is based off of our own RP -- however, I changed a good deal of things. xD Just wanted a redux of my own, since I liked the idea so much. C: Needed something to use my sudden creativity bug on. xD Hope you like it! C: )
House was rather uncomfortably aware of the damp fabric his face was currently burrowed in, but he found he didn’t have the heart to move his head. Especially since that would mean he’d be risking showing the owner of said fabric his face, which was hardly an option. He moaned low in his throat, unsuccessful yet again in an attempt to keep silent, though the tear-stained shirt in front of his mouth was at least kind enough to muffle the noise of it. Fuck. House’s upper body twitched in response to the renewed spasm in his thigh, one of his hands desperately clutching his leg as though he could scare it into compliance. The swear-filled mantra filling House’s head was momentarily interrupted as he went rigid to ride out the latest pain, silent this time because he’d forgotten to breathe. Once it had passed, he sighed in ironic relief, the hand not currently strangling his thigh shifting to fist a new section of the back of the man’s shirt.
Above him, House could now hear a low murmur of sound - probably mindless platitudes and assurances that yes, he was there for him. Not even focusing on the words enough to pick out something specific to scorn, House still snorted into George’s shirt. “Thank god you’re here to remind me how pathetic I look,” he commented, knowing at least one of the things to come out of the guitarist’s mouth had to be about how he ‘hated seeing him like this’. It was hardly fair (and quite possibly not accurate), and when George’s words stopped and the chest House was leaning into stiffened beneath his forehead, he couldn’t tell if it was from insult or worry over having offended him. House was distracted from analyzing it, however, by his traitorous (lack of) thigh muscle, and he groaned suddenly and dug his fingers further into his leg. George made a noise between a scoff and an ironic chuckle above him, and House frowned gravely at the man’s sternum. The steady wall of sound of George talking above his head started up again a few beats of silence later, however, and House could tell whatever incident had just happened had blown over.
House was still not focusing on the words themselves; instead on the tone of them, and how they vibrated into his chest from his position. At least if he ignored any comforting words the man was saying, he could safely listen to the drawling (albeit endearing) accent of his partner without snapping back at him. Probably. “You know I’m going to deny this ever happened later, right?” he mumbled. There was an answering chuckle, louder this time, above the top of his head but very near it - apparently George had tilted his own head forward against House’s.
“Would I really expect anything else?”
House let out a noncommittal noise that really tried its best to be a laugh, but got lost along the way. He groaned frustratedly against George’s chest a moment later, shifting away from the patch of fabric that was dampened by various fluids House liked to think he wasn’t capable of producing while alone, never mind when another person was around. Still, as the current spasm tapered down to a faint twitching of his thigh muscle, House tilted his head up far enough to connect his lips to George’s neck. This time, at least, House knew the other man was stiffening in surprise, though he quickly relaxed. House screwed his eyes shut, not so much against the pain as it was to concentrate on the feeling of George’s right hand shifting from his shoulder to his lower back, slowly massaging circles at random. The both of them silently resigned themselves to it, not without reservations but desperate enough for nothing to be broken once this was over to stick it out anyway. George couldn’t really decide what course of action was best, besides what he was currently doing - but despite his worry over not being enough help he was determined to make the attempt; and House was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t as allergic to caring as he thought.
-------
Several hours’ passing found the two in much the same positions as earlier, except that at some point House had relinquished his deathgrip both of his thigh and George’s shirt, and the other man had in turn tugged lose the bed’s blanket and pulled it over them. House was hugging himself about as close as physically possible to the shorter man, and despite the height difference he still had his head tucked up under the man’s chin. His breathing was no longer shallow and laboured, but it was enough to stir the dark strands of hair around George’s shoulders in his sleep. In turn, George had draped one arm across the doctor’s midriff, casually protective in slumber; his other hand had nestled itself in blonde hair.
-------
That morning when the cheerful sound of birds outside was enough to annoy him from sleep, House was momentarily confused as to why he was waking up in someone’s arms when no one was naked; as he recalled the night before, however, he sighed against George’s neck and watched a few dark locks flutter in the resultant breeze. Instead of speaking, he breathed in the distinctive scent of the other man, missing the feeling of skin on skin for an entirely different reason but still content enough not to move. He could wait another ten minutes before starting in on the comments about how wonderfully fruity George’s hair was looking that day.