The End of the Interview (PG-13)
Title: The End of the Interview
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 654
Summary: A ficlet I wrote for my internet-wife, fallen_arazil. Kisses!
“Miss Jinn?”
Djinn stifles a sigh and looks up. The woman who has just entered the front waiting room could not be more frosted. Frosted hair, frosted eyeshadow, frosted nails, frosted hose. Djinn has no idea where you would buy a frosted suit, but apparently this woman knows.
“Actually, my name is -” Djinn begins but Madame Frost is not listening.
“You don’t mind if I call you Dee, do you?” She’s looking past Djinn, casing the room, and Djinn stifles another sigh. Her pantyhose itch, and her new shoes, bought just for this interview, are too tight.
“I have the results from your typing test,” Madame Frost continues. “If you’ll just accompany me back to my office, Dee, we can have a frank discussion.”
No introduction, that’s a bad sign, but Djinn follows Mme. Frost through a doorway and down a long hall. The offices that line the hall have windows, but the one by Mme. Frost’s door is covered with blinds.
“Now in looking at these scores,” Mme. Frost says as she opens the door, and somehow she is completely missing the two men who are wrapped up in each other on top of her desk.
Or maybe this is normal at MBNA, Djinn thinks. A fringe benefit. Nice.
Mme. Frost makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. Clearly not typical, then.
The man underneath, who’s facing the door, is the first to notice them. Djinn realizes with a shock that she knows him: it’s Dr. House. That must mean that the darker haired man who is still attacking House’s neck, still grinding his naked groin into House’s pelvis, is Dr. Wilson. Nice ass, Djinn thinks. They really should find a way to show that on the show.
House pushes himself up to a more fully seated position, lifting Wilson with him. Wilson finally seems to realize they’re no longer alone, and his motions still. He refuses to look their way, burying his head in House’s neck.
“What are you doing?” Mme. Frost chokes out. Djinn is trying hard not to laugh.
“The only thing worse than people stating the obvious is people asking me to state the obvious.” House shakes his head, or tries to, because Wilson’s head is still there, limiting his range of motion.
“You didn’t lock the door,” Wilson accuses, his voice muffled.
“It’s your brother’s office, Wilson; I thought you locked it,” House replies, annoyed.
Wilson lifts his head to look down at House. He sounds exasperated as he says, “Why in the world would that make it my respons-” before being cut off by Mme. Frost.
“This is my office,” she says, still shocked. “Mr. Wilson is next door. You’re Joe Wilson’s brother?”
“No,” Wilson replies, and it’s hard to see how he could pack so much of a lie into one short syllable.
“Do you think you could give us a minute?” House asks. “Unless you want to join in. You look a little uptight,” he says to Mme. Frost, “but your young friend there seems interested.” He gives Djinn a look that is frankly appraising and approving, and she smiles shyly in return.
Mme. Frost shoves her out the door before anything more can be said. Or be seen, which is a shame because Wilson was climbing off House, and she’s pretty sure she would have seen full frontal if she’d been allowed to stay 30 seconds or so longer.
“This, er, incident is not representative of the general professional atmosphere of MBNA,” Mme. Frost says, her voice a bit shaky.
“Oh,” Djinn replies, thinking, Too bad.
“I can get you a job on another floor if you sign an agreement never to speak of this incident again.”
“OK.” Djinn is fine with promising never to speak of this again. She’s pretty sure there are dozens of folks on the Internet who’ll be interested when she writes about it, though.
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 654
Summary: A ficlet I wrote for my internet-wife, fallen_arazil. Kisses!
“Miss Jinn?”
Djinn stifles a sigh and looks up. The woman who has just entered the front waiting room could not be more frosted. Frosted hair, frosted eyeshadow, frosted nails, frosted hose. Djinn has no idea where you would buy a frosted suit, but apparently this woman knows.
“Actually, my name is -” Djinn begins but Madame Frost is not listening.
“You don’t mind if I call you Dee, do you?” She’s looking past Djinn, casing the room, and Djinn stifles another sigh. Her pantyhose itch, and her new shoes, bought just for this interview, are too tight.
“I have the results from your typing test,” Madame Frost continues. “If you’ll just accompany me back to my office, Dee, we can have a frank discussion.”
No introduction, that’s a bad sign, but Djinn follows Mme. Frost through a doorway and down a long hall. The offices that line the hall have windows, but the one by Mme. Frost’s door is covered with blinds.
“Now in looking at these scores,” Mme. Frost says as she opens the door, and somehow she is completely missing the two men who are wrapped up in each other on top of her desk.
Or maybe this is normal at MBNA, Djinn thinks. A fringe benefit. Nice.
Mme. Frost makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. Clearly not typical, then.
The man underneath, who’s facing the door, is the first to notice them. Djinn realizes with a shock that she knows him: it’s Dr. House. That must mean that the darker haired man who is still attacking House’s neck, still grinding his naked groin into House’s pelvis, is Dr. Wilson. Nice ass, Djinn thinks. They really should find a way to show that on the show.
House pushes himself up to a more fully seated position, lifting Wilson with him. Wilson finally seems to realize they’re no longer alone, and his motions still. He refuses to look their way, burying his head in House’s neck.
“What are you doing?” Mme. Frost chokes out. Djinn is trying hard not to laugh.
“The only thing worse than people stating the obvious is people asking me to state the obvious.” House shakes his head, or tries to, because Wilson’s head is still there, limiting his range of motion.
“You didn’t lock the door,” Wilson accuses, his voice muffled.
“It’s your brother’s office, Wilson; I thought you locked it,” House replies, annoyed.
Wilson lifts his head to look down at House. He sounds exasperated as he says, “Why in the world would that make it my respons-” before being cut off by Mme. Frost.
“This is my office,” she says, still shocked. “Mr. Wilson is next door. You’re Joe Wilson’s brother?”
“No,” Wilson replies, and it’s hard to see how he could pack so much of a lie into one short syllable.
“Do you think you could give us a minute?” House asks. “Unless you want to join in. You look a little uptight,” he says to Mme. Frost, “but your young friend there seems interested.” He gives Djinn a look that is frankly appraising and approving, and she smiles shyly in return.
Mme. Frost shoves her out the door before anything more can be said. Or be seen, which is a shame because Wilson was climbing off House, and she’s pretty sure she would have seen full frontal if she’d been allowed to stay 30 seconds or so longer.
“This, er, incident is not representative of the general professional atmosphere of MBNA,” Mme. Frost says, her voice a bit shaky.
“Oh,” Djinn replies, thinking, Too bad.
“I can get you a job on another floor if you sign an agreement never to speak of this incident again.”
“OK.” Djinn is fine with promising never to speak of this again. She’s pretty sure there are dozens of folks on the Internet who’ll be interested when she writes about it, though.