The Dig - Later That Night
A/N: Had to fight LJ to post this. Forgive any formatting errors.
Rating: G
Genre: humor, fluff
Pairing: House/Wilson est. relationship
Wilson was waiting for him in his apartment, sitting on the couch and holding a cold beer. The “Soft Rock” channel on Music Choice was droning in the background.
“The Backstreet Boys?” House asked. “Seriously?”
“So, how did it go with Thirteen?”
House shrugged. “She euthanized her brother. Because he had advanced Huntingtons. She pled down to overprescribing.” He was exhausted, and annoyed he hadn’t been able to whip that punk’s ass in the spudgun contest.
“Oh-hoh!” Wilson raised his eyebrows. “So has everybody on your team killed somebody now? Let’s see. Cameron, Chase, Foreman-“he paused, and grinned. “Wait, Thirteen already killed a patient! That paralyzed guy.”
House sagged down on the leather couch and put his arm around Wilson’s shoulders. “Yeah, it’s like potato chips. You can’t stop at just one.”
Now Cher was belting “I Found Someone”. Better than the Backstreet Boys. House reached for the remote but Wilson snatched it away.
“Hey, it’s Cher!”
“Fag.”
“Fag-hag. Has Taub killed anybody?”
“No, but I wish he’d murder that whiny wife of his.”
Wilson got up to them both beers. “Masters hasn’t killed anybody.”
“I’m surprised nobody’s killed her.”
“I heard your patient-or is it their patient?-was a hoarder. Did she try to keep all of her used IV bags?”
“She miscarried three times.” House accepted the beer. He shifted as Wilson sat down. Then House smiled, leaned over and gave Wilson a peck on the lips. “Her dumbass husband didn’t know.”
“Well, if she hadn’t been a hoarder, hiding those bloody sheets would have been a real bitch.” Wilson leaned his head back on House’s outstretched arm.
“At least you don’t have to try to kill anybody,” House observed.
“That’s not funny.”
“Yes, it is.” House took a long pull on his beer, and ruffled Wilson’s hair with his free hand. “Foreman better not take this chance to pounce on her grieving butt. Then I’ll have to eradicate him.”
Wilson sighed. “The way Taub and Foreman have been looking at each other, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Speaking of butts, how about you get out of those dirty jeans-“
“And into a clean bed? Wilson, that’s a cliché. Oh, not Phil Collins! That’s just plain wrong!” House reached for the remote, but Wilson held it out of reach.
“What’s wrong with Phil Collins?”
“He’s annoying. He sings like he doesn’t have any testicles.” House waited a moment. “I’m surprised you’re not saying ‘speaking of testicles-‘”
“You’ve made me think about Phil Collin’s testicles. Kinda ruins the mood.”
Now it was Whitney Houston singing “Where Do Broken Hearts Go.”
House slid closer, laying his head on Wilson's shoulders. “It’s karaoke music. Kills any mood...except mine when I’m around you. Not even Stevie Wonder would kill my mood. Hey, Wilson, what do you think it would be like, to be blind and have sex?”
“Shut up. Anyway, your bed isn’t clean, House. I was going to say, out of those dirty jeans and into my mouth.” Wilson paused. “But you’re gonna have to take a shower first. You stink.”
House sighed resignedly. He kissed Wilson, his lips brushing his lover’s. Then his tongue flicked out and licked the tip of Wilson’s nose, causing the other man to give a startled giggle.
“Okay, no shower.” Wilson stood up, putting his beer bottle on the coffee table. “But I am going to get some baby wipes.”
House smirked.
Had Taub murdered anybody?
Whatever.
Rating: G
Genre: humor, fluff
Pairing: House/Wilson est. relationship
Wilson was waiting for him in his apartment, sitting on the couch and holding a cold beer. The “Soft Rock” channel on Music Choice was droning in the background.
“The Backstreet Boys?” House asked. “Seriously?”
“So, how did it go with Thirteen?”
House shrugged. “She euthanized her brother. Because he had advanced Huntingtons. She pled down to overprescribing.” He was exhausted, and annoyed he hadn’t been able to whip that punk’s ass in the spudgun contest.
“Oh-hoh!” Wilson raised his eyebrows. “So has everybody on your team killed somebody now? Let’s see. Cameron, Chase, Foreman-“he paused, and grinned. “Wait, Thirteen already killed a patient! That paralyzed guy.”
House sagged down on the leather couch and put his arm around Wilson’s shoulders. “Yeah, it’s like potato chips. You can’t stop at just one.”
Now Cher was belting “I Found Someone”. Better than the Backstreet Boys. House reached for the remote but Wilson snatched it away.
“Hey, it’s Cher!”
“Fag.”
“Fag-hag. Has Taub killed anybody?”
“No, but I wish he’d murder that whiny wife of his.”
Wilson got up to them both beers. “Masters hasn’t killed anybody.”
“I’m surprised nobody’s killed her.”
“I heard your patient-or is it their patient?-was a hoarder. Did she try to keep all of her used IV bags?”
“She miscarried three times.” House accepted the beer. He shifted as Wilson sat down. Then House smiled, leaned over and gave Wilson a peck on the lips. “Her dumbass husband didn’t know.”
“Well, if she hadn’t been a hoarder, hiding those bloody sheets would have been a real bitch.” Wilson leaned his head back on House’s outstretched arm.
“At least you don’t have to try to kill anybody,” House observed.
“That’s not funny.”
“Yes, it is.” House took a long pull on his beer, and ruffled Wilson’s hair with his free hand. “Foreman better not take this chance to pounce on her grieving butt. Then I’ll have to eradicate him.”
Wilson sighed. “The way Taub and Foreman have been looking at each other, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Speaking of butts, how about you get out of those dirty jeans-“
“And into a clean bed? Wilson, that’s a cliché. Oh, not Phil Collins! That’s just plain wrong!” House reached for the remote, but Wilson held it out of reach.
“What’s wrong with Phil Collins?”
“He’s annoying. He sings like he doesn’t have any testicles.” House waited a moment. “I’m surprised you’re not saying ‘speaking of testicles-‘”
“You’ve made me think about Phil Collin’s testicles. Kinda ruins the mood.”
Now it was Whitney Houston singing “Where Do Broken Hearts Go.”
House slid closer, laying his head on Wilson's shoulders. “It’s karaoke music. Kills any mood...except mine when I’m around you. Not even Stevie Wonder would kill my mood. Hey, Wilson, what do you think it would be like, to be blind and have sex?”
“Shut up. Anyway, your bed isn’t clean, House. I was going to say, out of those dirty jeans and into my mouth.” Wilson paused. “But you’re gonna have to take a shower first. You stink.”
House sighed resignedly. He kissed Wilson, his lips brushing his lover’s. Then his tongue flicked out and licked the tip of Wilson’s nose, causing the other man to give a startled giggle.
“Okay, no shower.” Wilson stood up, putting his beer bottle on the coffee table. “But I am going to get some baby wipes.”
House smirked.
Had Taub murdered anybody?
Whatever.