That Time Cameron Had Mono (NC-17)
Posted 7/5/06 to house_wilson and house_slash
Title: That Time Cameron Had Mono
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: Wilson and someone who is definitely not Cameron. Read and you shall see.
Rating: NC-17 (or even the good old fashioned “X”)
Words: 4473
Summary: At the last minute, Cameron gets invited to a party.
Disclaimer: Oh, if they were mine, what a different world this would be. Nope, these characters are not mine, not even a teeny, tiny bit.
Note 1: Gold stars and bouquets of roses to my beta volunteers: hellspoette, whimsicalwonder, blutige_liebe, and Media.
Note 2: I would’ve set this at Lake Carnegie in Princeton, as a little nod to Hugh Laurie’s crew background, but couldn’t tell from the Interweb if there was an appropriate area for the action. Marquand Park sounds beautiful - if somebody’s been there, please let me know.
Allison Cameron sighed as she walked in through her front door. She had to stop for a second to catch her breath, shifting the bag of groceries from one hip to the other. Mono had hit her hard over the past few weeks, and even the short trip to the grocery store had sapped her strength.
As she went into the kitchen, she noticed the blinking light on her answering machine. Hitting the button produced a gruff voice she hadn’t heard since taking leave from work.
“Cameron? It’s House. I realized I forgot to tell you about this shindig that Wilson is forcing me to throw for him this Sunday. Tomorrow, I guess. Marquand Park, two p.m. The thing’s supposed to be nice, so you should wear a dress. Something frilly, that shows off your butt. You can’t really compete with Cuddy in the boobs department, so definitely go with the butt.”
Allison sighed again. What in the world was this, and why didn’t Chase or Foreman tell her about it? “Nope, nothing new,” was all they would say when she called to check in. She knew for certain that there had been no good cases, because House would have dragged her in to work in a wheelchair and a hazmat suit if he’d needed her. But the last few times she’d called, she thought she’d heard an underlying snicker in Chase’s voice, a little pause between “nothing” and “new.”
A wave of weariness rolled through her, and she closed her eyes briefly. Too tired to think any more about this, she shoved the ice cream in her freezer and went to bed.
***
On Sunday, the weather was beautiful. Allison was still tired, but the fresh air gave her a lift as she strolled out of the Lovers Lane parking lot and on into Marquand Park. She soon came across a pretty stretch of lawn that was clearly set for a simple but elegant wedding: flowers, chairs, an aisle, and a white canopy. She was admiring the beautiful setup, and wondering where Wilson’s party would be, when she spotted Chase and Foreman by a tree. “Hi, guys.”
“Allison, great to see you. I didn’t think you’d make it.” Chase hugged her.
“You’re not contagious, are you?” asked Foreman. He was looking past her, idly scanning the crowd at the wedding site.
“I’m fine, thank you.” If she rolled her eyes, it was probably too subtle to see. “So, where is Dr. Wilson’s party?” That got Foreman to look at her.
“It’s right here,” he said, gesturing at the chairs and canopy. “I think they’re having drinks afterward in that tent over there.”
Chase was smiling. “Was it Wilson or House that invited you?”
Allison was perplexed. “Um, House left a message on my machine. He didn’t say too much, just the time and place, and to wear something that flattered my rear.”
“Yeah, that sounds like House,” Chase replied, and the snicker was back in his voice. “So, he didn’t tell you the occasion.”
“No, but he said he was throwing it for Wilson, and given the setup here, I’m guessing Wilson’s getting married again.” Now she was annoyed. She hadn’t been out that long; how was it that she didn’t know Wilson was engaged? It was time to start building a better gossip network of her own; relying on Chase was clearly not optimal. With a small frown, she continued, “I suppose House is the best man?”
“I like to think so,” the man himself responded in her ear. She spun around quickly and lost her breath, for a different reason. House was unshaven but she had to admit, he looked fantastic in a tuxedo. “Glad you took my advice,” he continued, and his leer at her backside was overdone and comical. “Flowers suit you.” She’d chosen a sundress, with yellow and orange flowers. It could’ve been too much, but on a day like this, it worked.
She opened her mouth to ask him about Wilson, but he ran roughshod right over her. “Anyone seen Cuddy? She’s supposed to help me with the rings.”
Chase gestured vaguely. “I thought I saw her back that way.”
“Ah, Chase, helpful as always.” House adjusted his jacket and gave his cane (another new one, Allison noticed) a quick twirl. “Enjoy the show.” He was gone before she could say a word.
In just a few minutes, a buzz began, and Chase steered Allison and Foreman toward the chairs. Once seated, she peered behind them for a few minutes, then nudged Foreman and asked, “Where’s the bride?” His lips tightened disapprovingly (was something wrong with her question?), and he jutted his chin toward the canopy up front. “They’re all up there. I guess they’re not playing the wedding march.” Chase was stifling a giggle - what was wrong with him today?
The bride was pretty, Allison had to admit, although it was a little strange she’d chosen a pink dress instead of white or ivory. It was also strange that Wilson had two attendants - House and Cuddy - and she had none. “The bride doesn’t have a maid of honor?” she whispered to Chase.
"Well, there’s Cuddy," he laughed. Foreman glared at both of them - What did I do? Allison thought - and shushed them, because the ceremony was starting.
They hadn’t given a mike to the rabbi, and the wind blew his words in the other direction. Allison struggled to hear but only caught a few words. She had the Christian wedding ceremony memorized, but the Jewish ceremony was apparently different. “Did you meet the bride’s parents yet?” she whispered to Chase.
The people in front of them turned around with confused looks. Chase’s smile widened, and he leaned in close to her ear. “I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet. Don’t let House know the mono has dulled your intellectual faculties.” He sat back in his chair and pulled the smile into a smirk.
She looked back toward the canopy and was suddenly struck that the bride and groom were standing off center. From this angle, it looked like Wilson and House were centered in front of the rabbi… The smash when Wilson stepped on a wrapped glass brought Allison back to herself. “I didn’t think House would actually go through with it,” said Foreman in an undertone, as the groom turned, laughing, and claimed a kiss from his “bride.”
House and Wilson came down the aisle together, laughing, with an amused Cuddy and the woman in pink - maid of honor? best woman? - behind them. The crowd all moved to follow, but Allison grabbed both Chase and Foreman and yanked them back hard. “How could you not tell me?” she hissed. “What was all that talk about ‘nothing new’?”
Chase was rubbing his arm (she had a tight grip for such a slight woman) and looking wounded; Foreman looked perturbed. “I need a drink,” he announced, and made to leave.
“Stop.” Allison grabbed his arm again. He reluctantly turned back to her.
“We only heard about it two weeks ago,” he said, “and technically, it seems, it wasn’t anything new.” He frowned.
“Honestly, Allison, let’s go get a drink.” Chase slid his hand to the small of her back and nudged her into walking. “It’s probably the only time we’ll ever get House to buy us drinks.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“It seems they’ve been, um, seeing each other quite a while. At least, that’s what we’ve pieced together from what House has said.”
Foreman interjected. “House changes the story every other day. Who knows what the truth is? Like I said, until they finished the commitment ceremony, I was sure House would back out.” They had made it to the bar and were waiting in line for drinks.
“Commitment ceremony?” she asked. “They’re not married?”
“Illegal in this state, Dr. Cameron.” Cuddy had cut in front of them in line. “Scotch on the rocks,” she ordered from the bartender, and then turned back to Allison. “But don’t you dare mention Massachusetts to them. Dana-Farber or Mass General would snatch up Dr. Wilson in a heartbeat, and I’m sure they’d find a place for House, personality and all.”
Allison took her wine spritzer from Chase, and took a rather large gulp. This day was odd. The normality of it was odd. Her own lack of jealousy was odd. She was envious of the setting: the gorgeous weather, the lush grass, the cute flower arrangements (roses and baby’s breath). But she found, to her infinite surprise, that she didn’t begrudge Wilson a bit.
Her arm was jostled, startling her out of her reverie. She looked over to see the woman in the pink dress in front of her at the bar. “Sorry,” the woman called, breathless, laughing. “Greg is insisting he will die this minute if he doesn’t get a drink.”
“Oh, sure,” Allison replied. “He gets like that.”
The woman met her eyes and smiled. “Sounds like you know him. Are you an ex?”
“Oh! No, a colleague. Allison Cameron.” She stuck her hand out to shake. “And you are?”
“An ex.” She shook hands with Allison, and her expression was puckish, almost proud. “Jenny Wilson, Jimmy’s first wife.”
“Really?” The question was out before Allison could stop it. “I mean, sorry, Dr. Wilson seems nice, but -”
Jenny interrupted her. “It was a long time ago. I gave up on the hurt one and a half wives back. Life’s too short.” Jenny took two glasses from the bartender, a white wine and a scotch. “And, besides, like you said, Jimmy is nice. He deserves to be happy. Ta.” She raised the wine briefly in farewell before heading back toward the crowd.
Allison watched her glide across the grass. Jenny gave the scotch to House, kissed Wilson on the cheek, and sat down to chat with an older couple. House and Wilson seemed to be slowly making their way to the bar. Wilson stopped to greet each person, while House stood by, his impatience noticeable even from a distance. He did accept a hug from his mother, and a brief one from a smiling woman in a suit who must have been Wilson’s mother.
“Finally!” House exclaimed as he and Wilson made it to the bar. “Look, it’s my two favorite girls.” That exaggerated leer from before, directed down at Cuddy’s chest this time. “Oh, and hello again to you too, Dr. Cameron.”
“House, for Christ’s sake, we just had a commitment ceremony. Could you give it a rest?” Wilson gave Allison his long-suffering smile as a greeting.
“I’m pretty sure that ‘forsaking all others’ line was about touching, not looking. Otherwise, we’re going to have to cancel cable completely.” He snagged Cuddy’s scotch and finished it off. “Besides, they’re breasts, and you don’t have any for me to ogle.”
Wilson looked at House and his face twitched, seemingly conceding the point. Chase and Foreman snickered briefly.
“House,” Allison began.
He turned to her with a smile. “And you look beautiful, too, Dr. Cameron. See,” he said, poking Wilson, “she took my advice and her butt looks great.”
“Now, wait just a minute.” Wilson was starting to steam. “It’s true, I don’t have breasts, but I do have an ass, and this is starting to show a lack of respect -”
With a grin, House cut him off, “Yes, sweetheart, you do have an ass, and it’s a very nice one at that. Lovely. Magnificent.” He leaned in close to Allison and stage-whispered, “I write odes to it.”
Wilson’s flush changed to a blush. “OK, that’s enough!”
Wilson’s goat fully gotten, House beamed and slipped his arm around Wilson. He hip checked him lightly, and Wilson leaned in closer, settling against House comfortably. Allison’s eyes widened. With anyone else, this might have seemed just cordial, friendly. But it being House, this seemed more intimate, more surprising, than the kiss at the altar.
House turned his attention to her, and she scrambled to look nonchalant. “Well, if you’re well enough for a party, you’re well enough for work, as my mother used to say, so I’ll expect you back at the hospital. Only, you needn’t bother with next week, as I’ll be on my honeymoon. Now, where are we going on this honeymoon?” House looked down at Wilson, who gave a small smile and slipped away from House’s arm. He stepped to the bar and grabbed a beer before looking back.
“Not telling.”
“Come on.” House lightly tapped Cuddy with his cane. “You’re his boss. Make him tell.”
Cuddy put up her hands and took a step back. “I don’t think you want me to go there.”
Wilson took a swig of beer and resumed his smug expression. “You know the deal. You got to do the party the way you wanted-and it is very nice by the way-my mother got to plan the ceremony, and I get to do the honeymoon. You’ll find out when we get there.”
“Unless you plan to blindfold me-which is an interesting idea, but let’s put that aside for now-I will find out at some point before we reach our destination.”
“Then you find out during the journey, so be it. I’m not telling.”
“But I have to know what clothes to pack. I might have to leave the room at some point to forage for supplies. You, of course, need not a stitch, because I intend to keep you naked the entire time.”
Everyone around House tensed. “House,” Cuddy said warningly.
“Yep, naked and, of course, debauched.” Wilson was fighting to keep his blush down; Chase had lost the battle. Foreman looked nauseated. “House,” Cuddy repeated the warning, “Too much information.”
Blithely ignoring her, he continued, “Which is not to say you have nothing you need to pack. The, what’s it called, the rabbit thingy…”-House waved his pinkie back and forth-“And that thing we bought in Manhattan, you know in that shop with the beads everywhere…”
Foreman had stalked off at the pinkie wiggle, and now Chase was looking a little ill. Allison was rooted where she stood, openly gaping, not at the images House was producing (which she was swatting away from her conscious mind at a furious rate), but at the sheer audacity of the man.
“That’s it,” Cuddy said firmly, stepping in front of Wilson, directly into House’s line of sight. “Stop now or I’m getting your mother.”
House beamed again. Five goats gotten, for the price of one. Wilson would make him pay later, but since the punishment was more delicious than the crime, it was hardly a deterrent.
He moved around Cuddy, carefully gauging the distance to hit the sweet spot: close enough to discomfit Cuddy, not so close as to pique Wilson’s irritation. Two steps to the bar, and his hand-picked bartender had a scotch ready to go. He knocked it back, savoring the burn, and then went to collect his prize. “Excuse us, I have something I need to show Wilson,” he declared, maneuvering Wilson away from the group.
“Do I need to see this now?” Wilson demanded. “Where are we going?” They had turned around a clump of trees, and House had picked up the pace.
“Where are we going on our honeymoon?”
“You can wait to find out.”
“Then you can definitely wait a few more seconds until we get where I’m taking you… Ah, here.” The small wood building hidden in the trees was rustic. It took Wilson a beat to realize what it was.
“You’re taking me to the bathroom? You want to show me what? The latest in urinal cakes?”
“Nope.” House was shepherding Wilson in the door. “We’re using the ladies’ room. Much cleaner. And it has a lock.” The resounding click confirmed House’s words. He turned to Wilson, and his leer was nothing like the parodies of earlier. This one started small but promised big. House knew his intentions had been made perfectly clear when Wilson put his hands on his hips and made exasperated face #3.
“House, we are in the middle of a party being thrown in our honor. Dozens of our friends…” Wilson paused, shook his head slightly. “That is, my friends and your parents are out there, wanting to congratulate us, spend time with us.”
“Less talking, more fucking, you get back to the guests quicker.” They stood in standoff for a while: House’s leering smirk vs. Wilson’s exasperation. (Wilson had six exasperated expressions, four of which he saved exclusively for House. #1 meant nothing doing, doghouse time. #4 was House’s favorite, as it only came out in bed, but #3 definitely wasn’t bad.)
The standoff ended when Wilson pulled a tube of lubricant out of an inside coat pocket.
“You little slut.” House was pleased, admiring.
“Because I knew my husband would want to have sex some time today? I call that romantic.” Wilson crossed the few steps over, and slowly pressed his body against House. “Frankly,” he paused, and pushed the lube gently but firmly into House’s hand, “I’m surprised you made it through the ceremony.” Suddenly, he was away from House, three, four steps backward until he bumped into the sink. His hands were at his waist.
House had to look down to get past the cummerbund to loosen his own pants, and by the time he looked up again, Wilson had turned away and his pants were at his ankles.
Wilson’s come-hither look was especially beguiling when cast over his shoulder. “I believe you said something about ‘more fucking’ and perhaps something about the wonder that is my ass.” Wilson gave said ass the most intriguing wiggle - each well-formed cheek going up and then down - and House was more than ready.
He leaned heavily on his cane as he crossed the short distance. He definitely wanted to preserve as much strength as possible in his leg for the fun ahead. “Here.” He thrust the lube back at Wilson. “You’d better prepare yourself. I think I’m too far gone to be gentle about it.” He hooked his cane on the side of the sink and started to bring his pants down.
“Who said anything about being gentle?” Wilson turned around, opened the lube, grabbed House’s hand and squirted half the lube on it. The other half he warmed in his own hand before applying it to House’s cock, roughly and teasingly at the same time.
This was such a good idea, thought House, and whether he meant the day, the entire relationship, or just this encounter was not something he wanted to parse at the moment. He claimed Wilson’s mouth and pressed forward, stretching his hands around to grope Wilson’s ass. Magnificent indeed.
After what seemed no time at all, Wilson was leaning over the sink and House was deep into him. The light filtered in from near the ceiling and gave a soft hue to everything. Minutes passed in happy abandonment with Wilson’s moans, House’s hum, and the slap of flesh against flesh.
Then the rhythm was a little off, and House’s leg muscles were pulsing strangely against the back of Wilson’s thighs. Wilson could tell House was in pain. “Hey, we can change positions. You should take it easy.” That earned him a vicious thrust, and he was slammed into the edge of the sink. “Ow!”
“I was thinking,” House panted, “that I might need to relax that ‘less talking’ rule.” He was struggling a little for air. “But not if you’re going to take the conversation (pause) in that direction.”
Wilson smiled. Sometimes the physical wasn’t quite enough for House’s release: he needed the power of words. “So, what shall I tell you about?” He shifted, hoping to relieve some pressure off House’s leg without being obvious about it. “Well, there’s your gigantic prick, of course.” That got him a deep but gentler thrust.
“Or do you want to know what’s happening inside me, what you’re doing to me? The way you hit the cavernous nerves around the glands and stroma of my prostate in all the right ways. The electrical impulses coursing through the dendrites and axons, the myelin sheath causing saltatory conduction, which of course gets the impulses to the synapses faster.” House’s breathing was faster; he was close now, so close. “All of which Drives. Me. Wild.” Wilson pushed back on each word, wanting to push House to his orgasm…
And there it was, House groaning and twitching against him. Wilson smiled and let his head drop. He waited for the typical post-coital kiss on the shoulder, but it didn’t come. Wilson grew alarmed as House slid back from him, away and down, and then House was sitting on the floor with his eyes shut tight.
Wilson spun around and moved to crouch next to House, but House waved him off. “Finish,” he groaned through clenched teeth.
“But, I -”
House was blinking, grinding his teeth, clutching at his damaged leg and the floor to ride out the pain. He exhaled sharply, brought his blue eyes up to meet Wilson’s, and then repeated, “Finish. Finish, finish, finish, finish.”
It was a chant, a mantra. It could have been impatience, but it wasn’t. It was eagerness: lust and eagerness to see Wilson enjoy his release from what they’d started.
Wilson gazed into the blue eyes with amazement, and reached down to put his hand around his own cock. He was married - well, committed - to a man who was mostly miserable but took intense pleasure in seeing Wilson happy.
“Finish, finish, finish.”
“Say it.”
Wilson closed his eyes. He was close now, very close, and House really didn’t have to say it to make Wilson come. It just would be a lot sweeter if - “I love you.” - he did. All the tension drained out of Wilson, and he laughed loud, roller-coaster giddy. His come was all over the floor, and his knees threatened to buckle, but they didn’t. He stayed upright with a little help from the sink.
He looked quickly at House. Satisfaction was radiating out of every pore in House’s body, and his gorgeous blue eyes were clear and warm. (Thank you for popping the Vic when I didn’t have to see, thought Wilson.) It was funny, how often-not every time, not even most times, but quite a few-they finished sex this way: physically separated, but communing with each other in a look, bound by something greater.
“You’re a sentimental fool,” House intoned.
Wilson made the standard reply: “One of us should be.” He grabbed a paper towel and cleaned up a bit.
“Who is making that noise outside?” House was stretching, waiting for Wilson to bring him a paper towel too.
Wilson turned his head and then heard it, a shuffling sound along the dirt and a slight rattling at the door. He handed House a paper towel but kept his head toward the door.
“Go away,” House bellowed. “I demand privacy.” He gestured for Wilson to help him up, then allowed Wilson to help him with his clothes as well.
It was Cameron’s voice that came through the door plaintively. “But you’re in the ladies’ room.”
“Use the men’s.” House had his cane back and was now holding onto Wilson, who was threatening to giggle in a most girly manner.
“Um, no. I’ve seen what they do in there.”
“I’m afraid,” House began, and Wilson clutched at him, still seizing from repressed giggles. “House, don’t,” he whispered, “Don’t say it.”
“I’m afraid we’ve done the same thing in here as well.”
The first “tee” escaped Wilson’s lips, but then House rescued him with a kiss, long and deep. The cane pressed into Wilson’s left side in the same spots it always did - eventually, he’d get calluses, he supposed. With any luck at all.
“Please!” Cameron’s voice had a whining edge that made Wilson cringe. One last lap at House’s lower lip, and he was ready to go back to the party.
When House and Wilson came out the door, Cameron was practically dancing. Wilson passed by to let her go in, but House stopped and looked incredulously at her. “You really could have used the men’s room.”
“I don’t know where it is.”
“Or squatted by a tree, for Christ’s sake. We’re surrounded by them. No one would know.”
“I prefer to use the ladies’ room.” She was lightly bouncing from one foot to the other.
“Sometimes you’re like a schoolgirl, Cameron.” House leaned close, too close to her face. She pulled back a little as his blue eyes bore into her. “No wonder you didn’t figure it out until we were walking back down the aisle.” He waggled his eyebrows, then pulled back. Allison gasped quietly and shifted her feet again.
“See you in a week.” He saluted her with his cane, then turned to walk to Wilson. Wilson gave her a gentle smile and waved, and then the two of them were gone. By the time she visited the restroom and got back to the party, they had made their goodbyes and left for points unknown.
***
Allison had a minor relapse Monday and was too exhausted to make it to work. “Yesterday was a bit of a drain, wasn’t it?” Cuddy had said when she called in.
On Tuesday, Allison dragged herself to work (just for an hour, she promised herself) to check on the mail. Of course, none of the members of her team had looked at any of it while she was gone. When she complained to Chase, he looked briefly up from his crossword, shrugged, and that was it. When Foreman showed up around 11, he snorted before she could even get a word out.
Wednesday, as she was about halfway through the mail pile, the postcard arrived. House had addressed it directly to her, but she read it out loud to Foreman and Chase.
“‘Dear Cameron, Wish you-’ No, wait, sorry, that’s: ‘You wish you were here. Mountin is fabulous. House. PS. Tell Chase and Foreman to finish my clinic hours while you answer the mail.’”
She turned the postcard over to look at the front more closely.
“It’s the Newark Airport Marriott. What mountain is he talking about?”
Chase exchanged looks with Foreman, then said, “I’m thinking maybe he spelled ‘mountain’ wrong? Left out the ‘a’?”
“I guess he did. M-o-u-n-t-i-n… oh, now I get it.” Chase threw back his head and laughed. Allison laughed with him.
Foreman shook his head. “He’s crazy. Y’all are crazy.” He stalked out.
They laughed together for another moment. “Welcome back to the madhouse,” Chase said. Allison smiled and looked at the postcard again. She had figured out the best place for it.
On her way out, she pinned it to the bulletin board in the oncology lounge.
Title: That Time Cameron Had Mono
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: Wilson and someone who is definitely not Cameron. Read and you shall see.
Rating: NC-17 (or even the good old fashioned “X”)
Words: 4473
Summary: At the last minute, Cameron gets invited to a party.
Disclaimer: Oh, if they were mine, what a different world this would be. Nope, these characters are not mine, not even a teeny, tiny bit.
Note 1: Gold stars and bouquets of roses to my beta volunteers: hellspoette, whimsicalwonder, blutige_liebe, and Media.
Note 2: I would’ve set this at Lake Carnegie in Princeton, as a little nod to Hugh Laurie’s crew background, but couldn’t tell from the Interweb if there was an appropriate area for the action. Marquand Park sounds beautiful - if somebody’s been there, please let me know.
Allison Cameron sighed as she walked in through her front door. She had to stop for a second to catch her breath, shifting the bag of groceries from one hip to the other. Mono had hit her hard over the past few weeks, and even the short trip to the grocery store had sapped her strength.
As she went into the kitchen, she noticed the blinking light on her answering machine. Hitting the button produced a gruff voice she hadn’t heard since taking leave from work.
“Cameron? It’s House. I realized I forgot to tell you about this shindig that Wilson is forcing me to throw for him this Sunday. Tomorrow, I guess. Marquand Park, two p.m. The thing’s supposed to be nice, so you should wear a dress. Something frilly, that shows off your butt. You can’t really compete with Cuddy in the boobs department, so definitely go with the butt.”
Allison sighed again. What in the world was this, and why didn’t Chase or Foreman tell her about it? “Nope, nothing new,” was all they would say when she called to check in. She knew for certain that there had been no good cases, because House would have dragged her in to work in a wheelchair and a hazmat suit if he’d needed her. But the last few times she’d called, she thought she’d heard an underlying snicker in Chase’s voice, a little pause between “nothing” and “new.”
A wave of weariness rolled through her, and she closed her eyes briefly. Too tired to think any more about this, she shoved the ice cream in her freezer and went to bed.
***
On Sunday, the weather was beautiful. Allison was still tired, but the fresh air gave her a lift as she strolled out of the Lovers Lane parking lot and on into Marquand Park. She soon came across a pretty stretch of lawn that was clearly set for a simple but elegant wedding: flowers, chairs, an aisle, and a white canopy. She was admiring the beautiful setup, and wondering where Wilson’s party would be, when she spotted Chase and Foreman by a tree. “Hi, guys.”
“Allison, great to see you. I didn’t think you’d make it.” Chase hugged her.
“You’re not contagious, are you?” asked Foreman. He was looking past her, idly scanning the crowd at the wedding site.
“I’m fine, thank you.” If she rolled her eyes, it was probably too subtle to see. “So, where is Dr. Wilson’s party?” That got Foreman to look at her.
“It’s right here,” he said, gesturing at the chairs and canopy. “I think they’re having drinks afterward in that tent over there.”
Chase was smiling. “Was it Wilson or House that invited you?”
Allison was perplexed. “Um, House left a message on my machine. He didn’t say too much, just the time and place, and to wear something that flattered my rear.”
“Yeah, that sounds like House,” Chase replied, and the snicker was back in his voice. “So, he didn’t tell you the occasion.”
“No, but he said he was throwing it for Wilson, and given the setup here, I’m guessing Wilson’s getting married again.” Now she was annoyed. She hadn’t been out that long; how was it that she didn’t know Wilson was engaged? It was time to start building a better gossip network of her own; relying on Chase was clearly not optimal. With a small frown, she continued, “I suppose House is the best man?”
“I like to think so,” the man himself responded in her ear. She spun around quickly and lost her breath, for a different reason. House was unshaven but she had to admit, he looked fantastic in a tuxedo. “Glad you took my advice,” he continued, and his leer at her backside was overdone and comical. “Flowers suit you.” She’d chosen a sundress, with yellow and orange flowers. It could’ve been too much, but on a day like this, it worked.
She opened her mouth to ask him about Wilson, but he ran roughshod right over her. “Anyone seen Cuddy? She’s supposed to help me with the rings.”
Chase gestured vaguely. “I thought I saw her back that way.”
“Ah, Chase, helpful as always.” House adjusted his jacket and gave his cane (another new one, Allison noticed) a quick twirl. “Enjoy the show.” He was gone before she could say a word.
In just a few minutes, a buzz began, and Chase steered Allison and Foreman toward the chairs. Once seated, she peered behind them for a few minutes, then nudged Foreman and asked, “Where’s the bride?” His lips tightened disapprovingly (was something wrong with her question?), and he jutted his chin toward the canopy up front. “They’re all up there. I guess they’re not playing the wedding march.” Chase was stifling a giggle - what was wrong with him today?
The bride was pretty, Allison had to admit, although it was a little strange she’d chosen a pink dress instead of white or ivory. It was also strange that Wilson had two attendants - House and Cuddy - and she had none. “The bride doesn’t have a maid of honor?” she whispered to Chase.
"Well, there’s Cuddy," he laughed. Foreman glared at both of them - What did I do? Allison thought - and shushed them, because the ceremony was starting.
They hadn’t given a mike to the rabbi, and the wind blew his words in the other direction. Allison struggled to hear but only caught a few words. She had the Christian wedding ceremony memorized, but the Jewish ceremony was apparently different. “Did you meet the bride’s parents yet?” she whispered to Chase.
The people in front of them turned around with confused looks. Chase’s smile widened, and he leaned in close to her ear. “I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet. Don’t let House know the mono has dulled your intellectual faculties.” He sat back in his chair and pulled the smile into a smirk.
She looked back toward the canopy and was suddenly struck that the bride and groom were standing off center. From this angle, it looked like Wilson and House were centered in front of the rabbi… The smash when Wilson stepped on a wrapped glass brought Allison back to herself. “I didn’t think House would actually go through with it,” said Foreman in an undertone, as the groom turned, laughing, and claimed a kiss from his “bride.”
House and Wilson came down the aisle together, laughing, with an amused Cuddy and the woman in pink - maid of honor? best woman? - behind them. The crowd all moved to follow, but Allison grabbed both Chase and Foreman and yanked them back hard. “How could you not tell me?” she hissed. “What was all that talk about ‘nothing new’?”
Chase was rubbing his arm (she had a tight grip for such a slight woman) and looking wounded; Foreman looked perturbed. “I need a drink,” he announced, and made to leave.
“Stop.” Allison grabbed his arm again. He reluctantly turned back to her.
“We only heard about it two weeks ago,” he said, “and technically, it seems, it wasn’t anything new.” He frowned.
“Honestly, Allison, let’s go get a drink.” Chase slid his hand to the small of her back and nudged her into walking. “It’s probably the only time we’ll ever get House to buy us drinks.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“It seems they’ve been, um, seeing each other quite a while. At least, that’s what we’ve pieced together from what House has said.”
Foreman interjected. “House changes the story every other day. Who knows what the truth is? Like I said, until they finished the commitment ceremony, I was sure House would back out.” They had made it to the bar and were waiting in line for drinks.
“Commitment ceremony?” she asked. “They’re not married?”
“Illegal in this state, Dr. Cameron.” Cuddy had cut in front of them in line. “Scotch on the rocks,” she ordered from the bartender, and then turned back to Allison. “But don’t you dare mention Massachusetts to them. Dana-Farber or Mass General would snatch up Dr. Wilson in a heartbeat, and I’m sure they’d find a place for House, personality and all.”
Allison took her wine spritzer from Chase, and took a rather large gulp. This day was odd. The normality of it was odd. Her own lack of jealousy was odd. She was envious of the setting: the gorgeous weather, the lush grass, the cute flower arrangements (roses and baby’s breath). But she found, to her infinite surprise, that she didn’t begrudge Wilson a bit.
Her arm was jostled, startling her out of her reverie. She looked over to see the woman in the pink dress in front of her at the bar. “Sorry,” the woman called, breathless, laughing. “Greg is insisting he will die this minute if he doesn’t get a drink.”
“Oh, sure,” Allison replied. “He gets like that.”
The woman met her eyes and smiled. “Sounds like you know him. Are you an ex?”
“Oh! No, a colleague. Allison Cameron.” She stuck her hand out to shake. “And you are?”
“An ex.” She shook hands with Allison, and her expression was puckish, almost proud. “Jenny Wilson, Jimmy’s first wife.”
“Really?” The question was out before Allison could stop it. “I mean, sorry, Dr. Wilson seems nice, but -”
Jenny interrupted her. “It was a long time ago. I gave up on the hurt one and a half wives back. Life’s too short.” Jenny took two glasses from the bartender, a white wine and a scotch. “And, besides, like you said, Jimmy is nice. He deserves to be happy. Ta.” She raised the wine briefly in farewell before heading back toward the crowd.
Allison watched her glide across the grass. Jenny gave the scotch to House, kissed Wilson on the cheek, and sat down to chat with an older couple. House and Wilson seemed to be slowly making their way to the bar. Wilson stopped to greet each person, while House stood by, his impatience noticeable even from a distance. He did accept a hug from his mother, and a brief one from a smiling woman in a suit who must have been Wilson’s mother.
“Finally!” House exclaimed as he and Wilson made it to the bar. “Look, it’s my two favorite girls.” That exaggerated leer from before, directed down at Cuddy’s chest this time. “Oh, and hello again to you too, Dr. Cameron.”
“House, for Christ’s sake, we just had a commitment ceremony. Could you give it a rest?” Wilson gave Allison his long-suffering smile as a greeting.
“I’m pretty sure that ‘forsaking all others’ line was about touching, not looking. Otherwise, we’re going to have to cancel cable completely.” He snagged Cuddy’s scotch and finished it off. “Besides, they’re breasts, and you don’t have any for me to ogle.”
Wilson looked at House and his face twitched, seemingly conceding the point. Chase and Foreman snickered briefly.
“House,” Allison began.
He turned to her with a smile. “And you look beautiful, too, Dr. Cameron. See,” he said, poking Wilson, “she took my advice and her butt looks great.”
“Now, wait just a minute.” Wilson was starting to steam. “It’s true, I don’t have breasts, but I do have an ass, and this is starting to show a lack of respect -”
With a grin, House cut him off, “Yes, sweetheart, you do have an ass, and it’s a very nice one at that. Lovely. Magnificent.” He leaned in close to Allison and stage-whispered, “I write odes to it.”
Wilson’s flush changed to a blush. “OK, that’s enough!”
Wilson’s goat fully gotten, House beamed and slipped his arm around Wilson. He hip checked him lightly, and Wilson leaned in closer, settling against House comfortably. Allison’s eyes widened. With anyone else, this might have seemed just cordial, friendly. But it being House, this seemed more intimate, more surprising, than the kiss at the altar.
House turned his attention to her, and she scrambled to look nonchalant. “Well, if you’re well enough for a party, you’re well enough for work, as my mother used to say, so I’ll expect you back at the hospital. Only, you needn’t bother with next week, as I’ll be on my honeymoon. Now, where are we going on this honeymoon?” House looked down at Wilson, who gave a small smile and slipped away from House’s arm. He stepped to the bar and grabbed a beer before looking back.
“Not telling.”
“Come on.” House lightly tapped Cuddy with his cane. “You’re his boss. Make him tell.”
Cuddy put up her hands and took a step back. “I don’t think you want me to go there.”
Wilson took a swig of beer and resumed his smug expression. “You know the deal. You got to do the party the way you wanted-and it is very nice by the way-my mother got to plan the ceremony, and I get to do the honeymoon. You’ll find out when we get there.”
“Unless you plan to blindfold me-which is an interesting idea, but let’s put that aside for now-I will find out at some point before we reach our destination.”
“Then you find out during the journey, so be it. I’m not telling.”
“But I have to know what clothes to pack. I might have to leave the room at some point to forage for supplies. You, of course, need not a stitch, because I intend to keep you naked the entire time.”
Everyone around House tensed. “House,” Cuddy said warningly.
“Yep, naked and, of course, debauched.” Wilson was fighting to keep his blush down; Chase had lost the battle. Foreman looked nauseated. “House,” Cuddy repeated the warning, “Too much information.”
Blithely ignoring her, he continued, “Which is not to say you have nothing you need to pack. The, what’s it called, the rabbit thingy…”-House waved his pinkie back and forth-“And that thing we bought in Manhattan, you know in that shop with the beads everywhere…”
Foreman had stalked off at the pinkie wiggle, and now Chase was looking a little ill. Allison was rooted where she stood, openly gaping, not at the images House was producing (which she was swatting away from her conscious mind at a furious rate), but at the sheer audacity of the man.
“That’s it,” Cuddy said firmly, stepping in front of Wilson, directly into House’s line of sight. “Stop now or I’m getting your mother.”
House beamed again. Five goats gotten, for the price of one. Wilson would make him pay later, but since the punishment was more delicious than the crime, it was hardly a deterrent.
He moved around Cuddy, carefully gauging the distance to hit the sweet spot: close enough to discomfit Cuddy, not so close as to pique Wilson’s irritation. Two steps to the bar, and his hand-picked bartender had a scotch ready to go. He knocked it back, savoring the burn, and then went to collect his prize. “Excuse us, I have something I need to show Wilson,” he declared, maneuvering Wilson away from the group.
“Do I need to see this now?” Wilson demanded. “Where are we going?” They had turned around a clump of trees, and House had picked up the pace.
“Where are we going on our honeymoon?”
“You can wait to find out.”
“Then you can definitely wait a few more seconds until we get where I’m taking you… Ah, here.” The small wood building hidden in the trees was rustic. It took Wilson a beat to realize what it was.
“You’re taking me to the bathroom? You want to show me what? The latest in urinal cakes?”
“Nope.” House was shepherding Wilson in the door. “We’re using the ladies’ room. Much cleaner. And it has a lock.” The resounding click confirmed House’s words. He turned to Wilson, and his leer was nothing like the parodies of earlier. This one started small but promised big. House knew his intentions had been made perfectly clear when Wilson put his hands on his hips and made exasperated face #3.
“House, we are in the middle of a party being thrown in our honor. Dozens of our friends…” Wilson paused, shook his head slightly. “That is, my friends and your parents are out there, wanting to congratulate us, spend time with us.”
“Less talking, more fucking, you get back to the guests quicker.” They stood in standoff for a while: House’s leering smirk vs. Wilson’s exasperation. (Wilson had six exasperated expressions, four of which he saved exclusively for House. #1 meant nothing doing, doghouse time. #4 was House’s favorite, as it only came out in bed, but #3 definitely wasn’t bad.)
The standoff ended when Wilson pulled a tube of lubricant out of an inside coat pocket.
“You little slut.” House was pleased, admiring.
“Because I knew my husband would want to have sex some time today? I call that romantic.” Wilson crossed the few steps over, and slowly pressed his body against House. “Frankly,” he paused, and pushed the lube gently but firmly into House’s hand, “I’m surprised you made it through the ceremony.” Suddenly, he was away from House, three, four steps backward until he bumped into the sink. His hands were at his waist.
House had to look down to get past the cummerbund to loosen his own pants, and by the time he looked up again, Wilson had turned away and his pants were at his ankles.
Wilson’s come-hither look was especially beguiling when cast over his shoulder. “I believe you said something about ‘more fucking’ and perhaps something about the wonder that is my ass.” Wilson gave said ass the most intriguing wiggle - each well-formed cheek going up and then down - and House was more than ready.
He leaned heavily on his cane as he crossed the short distance. He definitely wanted to preserve as much strength as possible in his leg for the fun ahead. “Here.” He thrust the lube back at Wilson. “You’d better prepare yourself. I think I’m too far gone to be gentle about it.” He hooked his cane on the side of the sink and started to bring his pants down.
“Who said anything about being gentle?” Wilson turned around, opened the lube, grabbed House’s hand and squirted half the lube on it. The other half he warmed in his own hand before applying it to House’s cock, roughly and teasingly at the same time.
This was such a good idea, thought House, and whether he meant the day, the entire relationship, or just this encounter was not something he wanted to parse at the moment. He claimed Wilson’s mouth and pressed forward, stretching his hands around to grope Wilson’s ass. Magnificent indeed.
After what seemed no time at all, Wilson was leaning over the sink and House was deep into him. The light filtered in from near the ceiling and gave a soft hue to everything. Minutes passed in happy abandonment with Wilson’s moans, House’s hum, and the slap of flesh against flesh.
Then the rhythm was a little off, and House’s leg muscles were pulsing strangely against the back of Wilson’s thighs. Wilson could tell House was in pain. “Hey, we can change positions. You should take it easy.” That earned him a vicious thrust, and he was slammed into the edge of the sink. “Ow!”
“I was thinking,” House panted, “that I might need to relax that ‘less talking’ rule.” He was struggling a little for air. “But not if you’re going to take the conversation (pause) in that direction.”
Wilson smiled. Sometimes the physical wasn’t quite enough for House’s release: he needed the power of words. “So, what shall I tell you about?” He shifted, hoping to relieve some pressure off House’s leg without being obvious about it. “Well, there’s your gigantic prick, of course.” That got him a deep but gentler thrust.
“Or do you want to know what’s happening inside me, what you’re doing to me? The way you hit the cavernous nerves around the glands and stroma of my prostate in all the right ways. The electrical impulses coursing through the dendrites and axons, the myelin sheath causing saltatory conduction, which of course gets the impulses to the synapses faster.” House’s breathing was faster; he was close now, so close. “All of which Drives. Me. Wild.” Wilson pushed back on each word, wanting to push House to his orgasm…
And there it was, House groaning and twitching against him. Wilson smiled and let his head drop. He waited for the typical post-coital kiss on the shoulder, but it didn’t come. Wilson grew alarmed as House slid back from him, away and down, and then House was sitting on the floor with his eyes shut tight.
Wilson spun around and moved to crouch next to House, but House waved him off. “Finish,” he groaned through clenched teeth.
“But, I -”
House was blinking, grinding his teeth, clutching at his damaged leg and the floor to ride out the pain. He exhaled sharply, brought his blue eyes up to meet Wilson’s, and then repeated, “Finish. Finish, finish, finish, finish.”
It was a chant, a mantra. It could have been impatience, but it wasn’t. It was eagerness: lust and eagerness to see Wilson enjoy his release from what they’d started.
Wilson gazed into the blue eyes with amazement, and reached down to put his hand around his own cock. He was married - well, committed - to a man who was mostly miserable but took intense pleasure in seeing Wilson happy.
“Finish, finish, finish.”
“Say it.”
Wilson closed his eyes. He was close now, very close, and House really didn’t have to say it to make Wilson come. It just would be a lot sweeter if - “I love you.” - he did. All the tension drained out of Wilson, and he laughed loud, roller-coaster giddy. His come was all over the floor, and his knees threatened to buckle, but they didn’t. He stayed upright with a little help from the sink.
He looked quickly at House. Satisfaction was radiating out of every pore in House’s body, and his gorgeous blue eyes were clear and warm. (Thank you for popping the Vic when I didn’t have to see, thought Wilson.) It was funny, how often-not every time, not even most times, but quite a few-they finished sex this way: physically separated, but communing with each other in a look, bound by something greater.
“You’re a sentimental fool,” House intoned.
Wilson made the standard reply: “One of us should be.” He grabbed a paper towel and cleaned up a bit.
“Who is making that noise outside?” House was stretching, waiting for Wilson to bring him a paper towel too.
Wilson turned his head and then heard it, a shuffling sound along the dirt and a slight rattling at the door. He handed House a paper towel but kept his head toward the door.
“Go away,” House bellowed. “I demand privacy.” He gestured for Wilson to help him up, then allowed Wilson to help him with his clothes as well.
It was Cameron’s voice that came through the door plaintively. “But you’re in the ladies’ room.”
“Use the men’s.” House had his cane back and was now holding onto Wilson, who was threatening to giggle in a most girly manner.
“Um, no. I’ve seen what they do in there.”
“I’m afraid,” House began, and Wilson clutched at him, still seizing from repressed giggles. “House, don’t,” he whispered, “Don’t say it.”
“I’m afraid we’ve done the same thing in here as well.”
The first “tee” escaped Wilson’s lips, but then House rescued him with a kiss, long and deep. The cane pressed into Wilson’s left side in the same spots it always did - eventually, he’d get calluses, he supposed. With any luck at all.
“Please!” Cameron’s voice had a whining edge that made Wilson cringe. One last lap at House’s lower lip, and he was ready to go back to the party.
When House and Wilson came out the door, Cameron was practically dancing. Wilson passed by to let her go in, but House stopped and looked incredulously at her. “You really could have used the men’s room.”
“I don’t know where it is.”
“Or squatted by a tree, for Christ’s sake. We’re surrounded by them. No one would know.”
“I prefer to use the ladies’ room.” She was lightly bouncing from one foot to the other.
“Sometimes you’re like a schoolgirl, Cameron.” House leaned close, too close to her face. She pulled back a little as his blue eyes bore into her. “No wonder you didn’t figure it out until we were walking back down the aisle.” He waggled his eyebrows, then pulled back. Allison gasped quietly and shifted her feet again.
“See you in a week.” He saluted her with his cane, then turned to walk to Wilson. Wilson gave her a gentle smile and waved, and then the two of them were gone. By the time she visited the restroom and got back to the party, they had made their goodbyes and left for points unknown.
***
Allison had a minor relapse Monday and was too exhausted to make it to work. “Yesterday was a bit of a drain, wasn’t it?” Cuddy had said when she called in.
On Tuesday, Allison dragged herself to work (just for an hour, she promised herself) to check on the mail. Of course, none of the members of her team had looked at any of it while she was gone. When she complained to Chase, he looked briefly up from his crossword, shrugged, and that was it. When Foreman showed up around 11, he snorted before she could even get a word out.
Wednesday, as she was about halfway through the mail pile, the postcard arrived. House had addressed it directly to her, but she read it out loud to Foreman and Chase.
“‘Dear Cameron, Wish you-’ No, wait, sorry, that’s: ‘You wish you were here. Mountin is fabulous. House. PS. Tell Chase and Foreman to finish my clinic hours while you answer the mail.’”
She turned the postcard over to look at the front more closely.
“It’s the Newark Airport Marriott. What mountain is he talking about?”
Chase exchanged looks with Foreman, then said, “I’m thinking maybe he spelled ‘mountain’ wrong? Left out the ‘a’?”
“I guess he did. M-o-u-n-t-i-n… oh, now I get it.” Chase threw back his head and laughed. Allison laughed with him.
Foreman shook his head. “He’s crazy. Y’all are crazy.” He stalked out.
They laughed together for another moment. “Welcome back to the madhouse,” Chase said. Allison smiled and looked at the postcard again. She had figured out the best place for it.
On her way out, she pinned it to the bulletin board in the oncology lounge.