SEXtet (Part One of Six)
Well, I finally wrote something House/Wilson, even if it's not the continuation of my fic from a while back. I got the prompt from a House/Wilson comm when
lostwiginity posted the idea.
Title: Sextet: Pragma (1/6)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G in this part
Disclaimer: I don't own them? Wtf is this? >8U
Notes: There'll be six parts to this, all made to work with a certain 'love type'. (And in case my exposition does in fact need more work, this chapter is set while they're both in college still. My own take on a 'first meeting' even though canon has proved everyone wrong already. xD)
Pragma
Pragmatic lovers are practical. Pragmatic lovers think rationally and realistically about their expectations in a partner. Pragmatic lovers want to find value in their partners, and ultimately want to work with their partner to reach a common goal.
There’s something distinctly wrong with the table.
Not the fact that it’s one of the only slabs of wood unlucky enough to be caught in the full sun of the windows (tragically blindless, even in summer), though. It’s something else, a bit more easily fixed than prompting the earth to turn faster on its axis but still beyond the drive of the table’s current sole occupant.
“This seat taken?”
Blue eyes shifting up to brown, hardly enough time spent for one to recognize the hue of the other before, “Only by a cheerful, cancer-causing sunbeam.”
With a clatter of plastic on wood, the first to speak sits down and sets his tray on the tabletop. “Funny you should mention cancer, actually.”
The one still pondering the table’s problem pulls an expression that has the singularly impressive effect of making both of his eyebrows practically disappear under his hairline. “Don’t tell me you’re one of the masochists specializing in oncology? You know, you’ve got a good enough chance of being sued as-is, I’m sure, no need to overdo it.”
The brown-eyed man is a little surprised at the response, and while some brand of social grace still lingers something else follows the prompt to scurry aside. “Well I figured I’d try for patients that aren’t going to be around for long enough to sue me for a horrible beside manner.” He’s never usually that abrupt, but the man across from him seems a combination of amused and contemplative at the response. When he opens his mouth, the aspiring oncologist assumes it’s going to be a retort.
“...is that sandwich turkey or chicken?”
“What?” Not that the answer would apparently matter, as the other reached one long arm across the otherwise-vacant table for his tray. Swiping off a sandwich half, he calmly brings it to his mouth, glancing to the table as if that’s at fault for the other’s sudden lack of half his lunch. “...what the hell are you doing?” As if it wasn’t obvious.
Eyes lock on his atop a lettuce leaf that’s poking up from between the bread slices. “Fixing the table’s problem.” There hadn’t been any food on his side before, after all.
‘Masochist’ or not, a heavy eyebrow raises in wary question before he simply shakes his head and takes up what’s left of his meal. At least now Wilson doesn’t seem to need to worry about stepping lightly around his new eating partner.
The next chapter can be found here.
lostwiginity posted the idea.
Title: Sextet: Pragma (1/6)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G in this part
Disclaimer: I don't own them? Wtf is this? >8U
Notes: There'll be six parts to this, all made to work with a certain 'love type'. (And in case my exposition does in fact need more work, this chapter is set while they're both in college still. My own take on a 'first meeting' even though canon has proved everyone wrong already. xD)
Pragma
Pragmatic lovers are practical. Pragmatic lovers think rationally and realistically about their expectations in a partner. Pragmatic lovers want to find value in their partners, and ultimately want to work with their partner to reach a common goal.
There’s something distinctly wrong with the table.
Not the fact that it’s one of the only slabs of wood unlucky enough to be caught in the full sun of the windows (tragically blindless, even in summer), though. It’s something else, a bit more easily fixed than prompting the earth to turn faster on its axis but still beyond the drive of the table’s current sole occupant.
“This seat taken?”
Blue eyes shifting up to brown, hardly enough time spent for one to recognize the hue of the other before, “Only by a cheerful, cancer-causing sunbeam.”
With a clatter of plastic on wood, the first to speak sits down and sets his tray on the tabletop. “Funny you should mention cancer, actually.”
The one still pondering the table’s problem pulls an expression that has the singularly impressive effect of making both of his eyebrows practically disappear under his hairline. “Don’t tell me you’re one of the masochists specializing in oncology? You know, you’ve got a good enough chance of being sued as-is, I’m sure, no need to overdo it.”
The brown-eyed man is a little surprised at the response, and while some brand of social grace still lingers something else follows the prompt to scurry aside. “Well I figured I’d try for patients that aren’t going to be around for long enough to sue me for a horrible beside manner.” He’s never usually that abrupt, but the man across from him seems a combination of amused and contemplative at the response. When he opens his mouth, the aspiring oncologist assumes it’s going to be a retort.
“...is that sandwich turkey or chicken?”
“What?” Not that the answer would apparently matter, as the other reached one long arm across the otherwise-vacant table for his tray. Swiping off a sandwich half, he calmly brings it to his mouth, glancing to the table as if that’s at fault for the other’s sudden lack of half his lunch. “...what the hell are you doing?” As if it wasn’t obvious.
Eyes lock on his atop a lettuce leaf that’s poking up from between the bread slices. “Fixing the table’s problem.” There hadn’t been any food on his side before, after all.
‘Masochist’ or not, a heavy eyebrow raises in wary question before he simply shakes his head and takes up what’s left of his meal. At least now Wilson doesn’t seem to need to worry about stepping lightly around his new eating partner.
The next chapter can be found here.