Therapy
Title: Therapy
Author:simple__man
Fandom and Pairing:House; House/Wilson
Rating:G
Prompt:Writer's choice, word is cane
Warnings: 600+ words of silliness. Fluff.
Notes:Special thanks to phoenixmuse who gave me the prompt "My Most Amazing Day" over in my journal. Appreciate the help ^^ Written for worclaim50
Summary: Everyone knows House needs therapy. He's got better ideas...
"My Most Amazing Day..." House intones as he enters Wilson's office, sinking his lanky frame into the couch as if he belongs there. He smacks the top of Wilson's desk with his cane, irritated that his presence alone doesn't command immediate attention. Throwing his arms behind his head, he grins wolfishly, and Wilson can't help but worry about where this is headed.
With a sigh, Wilson asks pointedly, "Don't you have an office of your own?" He continues pushing files into his briefcase, but his attention is drawn instintively to the clipboard in House's hand.
Barely stifling a grin as he settles deeper into the cushions, House holds it out for Wilson to see. "I've got homework, Mom." The puppy face is brought out for inspection, and paraded around for a bit, but Wilson is close to being almost impervious.
He is not, however, immune to curiousity, and dutifully takes the clipboard in hand.
"My Favorite Childhood Memory, My Greatest Accomplishment, My Best Traits," Wilson reads, eyebrows raising with every word. Just when House thinks they may gain their independence, the eyebrows in question narrow in suspicion.
"You're seeing the therapist? You're actually seeing your therapist? What, did they finally manage to get it court-appointed?"
House cracks his neck, then his back, the vertebrae popping delightfully, making Wilson wince. "Try Cuddy-appointed," he says, starting in on his knuckles. The snapping of joints echoes in the silence of the aftermath of that statement, and House can almost hear the wheels grinding in Wilson's brain.
Taking a seat at the end of the couch, Wilson angles his head towards House, a questioning tilt to match his questioning eyes. "So what's in it for you?"
"Sex." House says it so casually, so off-hand, that it takes a moment or two to sink in.
Shaking his head, Wilson leans forward, his gaze never breaking away from House's face. "You're lying."
Now it's House's turn to raise an eyebrow, but Wilson knows that smirk, knows it well, and is man enough to admit his complete and utter terror at the sight of it. "Okay, so you're not exactly lying, but you're not exactly telling the truth. Typical. Still, I can't imagine Cuddy agreeing to have sex with you, even with the hope and promise of therapy."
"I didn't say sex with her," House says reasonably, and Wilson must admit the truth of that statement. "Then who?" he asks, regretting the question almost as soon as it leaves his mouth.
House leans into Wilson, slowly, carefully, holding Wilson's confused gaze even as his face comes distractingly within kissing distance.
Wilson knows better than to show fear, holding himself perfectly still, never looking away, and stifling the instinct to pull away from danger.
Around the time Wilson starts forming escape plans, House cracks a smile, and grabs a pen from Wilson's lab coat pocket.
"Thanks, Jimmy," he says, pulling the clipboard out of Wilson's hands. He can feel where the edges of the metal had bit into his palms from the pressure of his grip.
He can feel a flush starting, around the vicinity of parts best left unmentioned, and fast spreading throughout his body. Ears flaming, Wilson can feel his mind snapping under the weight of the questions he wants to ask.
Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut, knowing that to ask House anything is to invite more of the same, and Wilson isn't sure he can deal with more of the same at the moment.
Perhaps sensing the maelstrom of doubt that is Jimmy Wilson, or perhaps just because he likes the view, House glances up from the paper, and winks conspiratorially.
"We'll leave that first question for last, shall we?" he says, almost concealing the triumph in his voice.
Almost.
Author:simple__man
Fandom and Pairing:House; House/Wilson
Rating:G
Prompt:Writer's choice, word is cane
Warnings: 600+ words of silliness. Fluff.
Notes:Special thanks to phoenixmuse who gave me the prompt "My Most Amazing Day" over in my journal. Appreciate the help ^^ Written for worclaim50
Summary: Everyone knows House needs therapy. He's got better ideas...
"My Most Amazing Day..." House intones as he enters Wilson's office, sinking his lanky frame into the couch as if he belongs there. He smacks the top of Wilson's desk with his cane, irritated that his presence alone doesn't command immediate attention. Throwing his arms behind his head, he grins wolfishly, and Wilson can't help but worry about where this is headed.
With a sigh, Wilson asks pointedly, "Don't you have an office of your own?" He continues pushing files into his briefcase, but his attention is drawn instintively to the clipboard in House's hand.
Barely stifling a grin as he settles deeper into the cushions, House holds it out for Wilson to see. "I've got homework, Mom." The puppy face is brought out for inspection, and paraded around for a bit, but Wilson is close to being almost impervious.
He is not, however, immune to curiousity, and dutifully takes the clipboard in hand.
"My Favorite Childhood Memory, My Greatest Accomplishment, My Best Traits," Wilson reads, eyebrows raising with every word. Just when House thinks they may gain their independence, the eyebrows in question narrow in suspicion.
"You're seeing the therapist? You're actually seeing your therapist? What, did they finally manage to get it court-appointed?"
House cracks his neck, then his back, the vertebrae popping delightfully, making Wilson wince. "Try Cuddy-appointed," he says, starting in on his knuckles. The snapping of joints echoes in the silence of the aftermath of that statement, and House can almost hear the wheels grinding in Wilson's brain.
Taking a seat at the end of the couch, Wilson angles his head towards House, a questioning tilt to match his questioning eyes. "So what's in it for you?"
"Sex." House says it so casually, so off-hand, that it takes a moment or two to sink in.
Shaking his head, Wilson leans forward, his gaze never breaking away from House's face. "You're lying."
Now it's House's turn to raise an eyebrow, but Wilson knows that smirk, knows it well, and is man enough to admit his complete and utter terror at the sight of it. "Okay, so you're not exactly lying, but you're not exactly telling the truth. Typical. Still, I can't imagine Cuddy agreeing to have sex with you, even with the hope and promise of therapy."
"I didn't say sex with her," House says reasonably, and Wilson must admit the truth of that statement. "Then who?" he asks, regretting the question almost as soon as it leaves his mouth.
House leans into Wilson, slowly, carefully, holding Wilson's confused gaze even as his face comes distractingly within kissing distance.
Wilson knows better than to show fear, holding himself perfectly still, never looking away, and stifling the instinct to pull away from danger.
Around the time Wilson starts forming escape plans, House cracks a smile, and grabs a pen from Wilson's lab coat pocket.
"Thanks, Jimmy," he says, pulling the clipboard out of Wilson's hands. He can feel where the edges of the metal had bit into his palms from the pressure of his grip.
He can feel a flush starting, around the vicinity of parts best left unmentioned, and fast spreading throughout his body. Ears flaming, Wilson can feel his mind snapping under the weight of the questions he wants to ask.
Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut, knowing that to ask House anything is to invite more of the same, and Wilson isn't sure he can deal with more of the same at the moment.
Perhaps sensing the maelstrom of doubt that is Jimmy Wilson, or perhaps just because he likes the view, House glances up from the paper, and winks conspiratorially.
"We'll leave that first question for last, shall we?" he says, almost concealing the triumph in his voice.
Almost.