Transplant - One Hour Later
Word count: 321
Genre: fluff
Rating: PG
Foreman walked by House’s office door, and stopped in his tracks. Damn, he never should have had House released from prison! No good deed goes unpunished, he thought, simultaneously hearing his father’s voice: And if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins. Oh, shut up, Dad.
“Holy crap,” Foreman yelled, opening the officer door. “What have you done, House?” He lowered his voice. He was the boss now. “After sticking my neck out for you, getting you back at the hospital, getting you a job, getting your office back-this is how you repay me?” He waved a hand around the office.
Which was thoroughly trashed. The Eames recliner lay on its side, books were scattered on the floor, the waste basket was overturned-it looked like the work of an unusually clumsy, drunken burglar.
House and Wilson blinked up at him from the floor. Both of their mouths were red and raw from kissing. They were both panting with exertion. Wilson’s tie had been tossed on top of the tower lamp. His shirttails were pulled out. He had an enormous hickey on his neck. House was naked from the waist up, and if Foreman hadn’t interrupted them, House would probably have been naked from the waist down in no time. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Wilson, who was lying on top of House, was favoring his right wrist.
“Am I violating my parole by violating him?” House asked. “He’s a felon, too.”
Foreman gave a resigned sigh. “Look, guys, I…” He paused and thought for a moment. “Could you do this in Wilson’s office from now on? He has a wooden door.”
“Gotcha,” said Wilson, as House gave Foreman a thumbs up and a wide grin.
“Carry on.” Foreman closed the door, shaking his head. Tomorrow morning he was going to hear about this from the cleaning staff.
Genre: fluff
Rating: PG
Foreman walked by House’s office door, and stopped in his tracks. Damn, he never should have had House released from prison! No good deed goes unpunished, he thought, simultaneously hearing his father’s voice: And if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins. Oh, shut up, Dad.
“Holy crap,” Foreman yelled, opening the officer door. “What have you done, House?” He lowered his voice. He was the boss now. “After sticking my neck out for you, getting you back at the hospital, getting you a job, getting your office back-this is how you repay me?” He waved a hand around the office.
Which was thoroughly trashed. The Eames recliner lay on its side, books were scattered on the floor, the waste basket was overturned-it looked like the work of an unusually clumsy, drunken burglar.
House and Wilson blinked up at him from the floor. Both of their mouths were red and raw from kissing. They were both panting with exertion. Wilson’s tie had been tossed on top of the tower lamp. His shirttails were pulled out. He had an enormous hickey on his neck. House was naked from the waist up, and if Foreman hadn’t interrupted them, House would probably have been naked from the waist down in no time. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Wilson, who was lying on top of House, was favoring his right wrist.
“Am I violating my parole by violating him?” House asked. “He’s a felon, too.”
Foreman gave a resigned sigh. “Look, guys, I…” He paused and thought for a moment. “Could you do this in Wilson’s office from now on? He has a wooden door.”
“Gotcha,” said Wilson, as House gave Foreman a thumbs up and a wide grin.
“Carry on.” Foreman closed the door, shaking his head. Tomorrow morning he was going to hear about this from the cleaning staff.