Fic: "Don't Laugh" (H/W, J/D, incest)
Title: Don’t laugh (Prompt #092 of my fanfic100 table: Christmas.)
Author: Fiorediloto
Pairing(s): House/Wilson; James/David (a.k.a. “the missing brother”)
Warning: Hints of incest. If you don’t like it, don’t read.
Spoilers: MLC and spoilers for Words and Deeds.
Many many thanks to: aphroditeroslin, my sweet sweet beta-reader ♥
A/N: For eryslash, my master and my slave, my slave and my master. And for nakannaLee, who said it best: “House had better appreciate Wilson's tie. I mean, it better be FRAMED in his apartment”. This is my little Xmas gift for you, girls.
I would have liked to write two fics for you, but I had time enough just for one. Forgive me! I like thinking that the first part is especially dedicated to Eryslash, and the second one especially dedicated to Nakanna, and if you read you’ll immediately know why. But, anyway, all the fic is for you both.
A/N 2: I know Xmas has gone, but, you know, it's not like I can just write a fic and post it: I need to translate it, make it beta-ed, and blah blah blah. Oh, well, you love me anyway, don't you? *sparkling puppy-dog eyes*
A/N 3: Ery decided that Wilson's brother's name had to be David, and since I love this name, I said yes. I think someone else used it. Paul, instead: I stole this from sorion. I hope neither of you gets offended for this, guys.
Hanukkah 1990
It’s not like there was anything to laugh about.
Thinking carefully, the thing wasn’t funny, no, wasn’t funny at all.
It wasn’t a matter of principle, either: in life there were things to laugh at and things not.
There were thousands of things at which you were allowed to indulge in a broad, relieving fit of laughter - one of those that makes your stomach tremble until you lose your breath, and your diaphragm hurt with discontinuous, violent stabs.
And there were things… well, things you couldn’t laugh at.
Not that these latter should necessarily be sad. There were a lot of non-sad things you should non-laugh at.
An old aunt who stumbled in the carpet, falling on her not-so-graceful ass, for example - She could happen to break a limb!
A passer-by who had been soaked from her head to her feet by the passage of a rude car through a puddle, and her beautiful Armani dress was ready to be thrown in the rubbish - I would have liked you have seen you in her place!
A little spark of the menorah which fell on the carpet’s fringe, setting that, the border of Amy’s skirt and a leg of the aunt’s chair on fire…
James Wilson, there was nothing to laugh at all.
When everything had settled down, you had needed to find a refuge in a corner far enough from your relatives’ shocked faces. The window, at the moment, had looked like a good choice. You could pretend to watch the snowflakes falling in the whitened garden, and cry and moan silently upon the misery of this ruined Hanukkah - but really, you just had a big wish to laugh, and thank God you had managed to suppress the first snorts that were coming out of your mouth.
Your reflected image in the glass was watching you with his outlines deformed by the effort of suppressing your laughter.
In the living room there was still a vague burnt smell, mixed with the synthetic foam of the extinguisher.
The carpet was gone, the chair wasn’t going to hold the weight of any Wilson matriarch anymore; your cousin Amy had shed warm tears on her skirt, and you can just imagine how much it had cost to her - its end was going to be the same as the aforementioned Armani dress.
The saddened guests had come back home, while your mother covered her fake disappointment with a fake brave smile. It had always surprised you how a person can pretend she’s suffering just to pretend she’s strong enough to try to hide it. Nevertheless, you thought she was really sorry - at least for the carpet. Maybe it was just the habit of fake smiles that teaches people to forget the natural ones.
You had said goodbye to your relatives, showed your sadness, expressed words of vague optimism, without helping but find the entire situation incredibly comical. Then you had come back to the window. In the reflection you could see your brother Paul wandering among the ashes of your Hanukkah. He had been abandoned in his desperate mission even by his wife Christine and their firstborn, who actually was still in her womb.
Then Paul had given up too.
«I’m going, Jimmy. Do you want me to leave the light on?»
«No, switch it off. Thanks.»
Out of the window, the garden lights illuminated your little corner of living room and your face.
In the glowing semi darkness of this Hanukkah, some slow steps, then some faster ones, crossed the room and stopped next to you.
«Luckily it burned just the paper.»
You took your gift with a smile, whispering “Thanks”, but you barely had enough time to open the package before David’s hands moved yours away, took the gift out of its ruined package, and placed it around your neck. Your brother stayed behind your shoulders, keeping the tie upon your chest, with the larger lap terribly near to your heart.
Then the tie hung by itself from your shoulders, and David’s arms hugged your waist and his lips searched for your ear. You had stopped laughing, and not because David wasn’t allowed to do what he was doing - but because there are a lot of non-sad things you shouldn’t laugh at, and one of these is your brother kissing you in the darkness of your living room.
Your hand caressing his was a sort of vague encouragement, but his fingers crossing with yours were a prayer. In the moment you leaned your head back to leave him the space he wanted, you knew that David was going to ask for more. That he wasn’t going to settle. Ever.
It should be his need which made him ask you for more and more, and it should be your need which made you unable to refuse anything.
«I love you.»
Between the lights and the burnt smell, it had nearly had the sound of a sacrificial formula.
Christmas 2010
It’s not like there was anything to laugh about.
You know this now, as you did at that time: laughing in the wrong moment can bring irreparable damages. However, you know as well that your shoulders - from which once hung a Regimental light blue tie - your shoulders are now wider, maybe more tired, but somehow happier - and a laugh escaping at the wrong moment won’t delete thousand of other laughs at the right moment. Loyalty, or trust, are not doubtful between the two of you.
However, you could have abstained from laughing right at his face.
Between the Not-to-Laugh things, now, you can add “cripple with cane who slides on the wrapping of his Christmas gift”. It’s kinda like your old aunt Betty, you’ve thought while you watched him falling on the floor. But House is funnier.
While he stands up, his gaze is full of confusion, and you can’t help but remember when his cane broke in two pieces, making him fly down in the middle of the hospital’s hallway. Anything to do with you, maybe?
In a moment you’ve understood that the bad leg was safe, and you couldn’t restrain yourself anymore. The pain was the only thing which could stop you from laughing, the only one you could show respect for.
You haven’t laughed so much, so good, at least for six years.
There’s a Christmas, which is buried in your memory, which you remember it was labelled as horrible - Julie you’d left alone with her guests, you drinking and eating and watching House celebrating with double Vicodin. Two years later, while you were driving under the rain and your hands trembled upon the wheel, fearing that something bad had happened to him, that Christmas seemed to you a priceless memory.
In your memory, House was laughing.
«Don’t know why but I think it’s your fault» he mutters now, standing up.
«I didn’t make you fall.»
House watches the floor, seeing what he stumbles on. «It’s the package of your gift» he tells you, accusingly.
«I distinctly remember telling you not to throw it on the floor.»
«And I distinctly remember telling you to pick it up, so I could watch your ass.»
He lets himself fall on the couch next to you, while the ending titles of the movie still flowing on the TV. You suddenly remember you should ask for a vision test. You have no problems seeing long distances, but when you read you have to move the book further and further from your eyes.
Distractedly, you wonder if the glasses would be flattering on your face.
House places a hand on your knee, and you place yours on his.
Neither of you had wish to do the Christmas tree, this year, and, thinking back, you probably saw your last lighted menorah when you were still with Julie. At that moment, anyway, she was already the one who made decorations.
You’ve assisted too many Hanukkahs with your family to think that a tree or a menorah can make you feel like home - that the dancing flames or the intermittent lights can really warm the atmosphere.
Talking about warmth, you prefer the human one, far and away.
You squeeze his hand distractedly, caressing his long fingers.
Your gift lies on the table, forgotten, for now.
You found it in a box at the bottom of House’s wardrobe. The red tie. At the moment you felt sad thinking House had thrown it away to forget about its existence.
Then you saw that in the box there were other things: the broken cane, the red and grey ball, the skateboard. The ticket to a Monster Trucks show you and he had gone to together.
You had the tie framed, even if the shop assistant looked at you as if you were insane.
House didn’t look at you as if you were insane. His comment was: «It’s a veiled way to tell me I better not wear it anymore? ‘Cause, you know, I didn’t choose it.»
«It’s a veiled way to tell you I don’t want you to forget why I gave it to you.»
«To make me look like an idiot?»
«Did you need to look like an idiot?»
He smiled, and you didn’t care if he liked the gift or not. The important thing was that he had understood.
«Another movie?» you propose now, without much enthusiasm.
«Let’s go to bed.»
«It’s not midnight yet.»
«Exactly. Let’s celebrate.»
Instead you celebrate on the couch, even if it’s uncomfortable and there’s little room, because it reminds you of the first time. It was summer, and the sweat crossed your bodies like liquid fire, and House seemed to be seriously about to experiment all the new possibilities offered by ketamine. You didn’t need to care about his bad leg, at that time, because the pain was gone.
But even if you have to measure your movements not to hurt him, now, you know that someway the two of you have reached the highest level of happiness you could. The thought inebriates and discourages you at the same time.
Not that what you have isn’t enough - you’re happy, and asking for more would be greediness. It’s just… the thought you touched a limit. The awareness that, from now, things can just remain as they are or get worse.
Damn, Jimmy Wilson, whenever had things been different?
Stop thinking and enjoy the night.
And merry Christmas.
Author: Fiorediloto
Pairing(s): House/Wilson; James/David (a.k.a. “the missing brother”)
Warning: Hints of incest. If you don’t like it, don’t read.
Spoilers: MLC and spoilers for Words and Deeds.
Many many thanks to: aphroditeroslin, my sweet sweet beta-reader ♥
A/N: For eryslash, my master and my slave, my slave and my master. And for nakannaLee, who said it best: “House had better appreciate Wilson's tie. I mean, it better be FRAMED in his apartment”. This is my little Xmas gift for you, girls.
I would have liked to write two fics for you, but I had time enough just for one. Forgive me! I like thinking that the first part is especially dedicated to Eryslash, and the second one especially dedicated to Nakanna, and if you read you’ll immediately know why. But, anyway, all the fic is for you both.
A/N 2: I know Xmas has gone, but, you know, it's not like I can just write a fic and post it: I need to translate it, make it beta-ed, and blah blah blah. Oh, well, you love me anyway, don't you? *sparkling puppy-dog eyes*
A/N 3: Ery decided that Wilson's brother's name had to be David, and since I love this name, I said yes. I think someone else used it. Paul, instead: I stole this from sorion. I hope neither of you gets offended for this, guys.
Hanukkah 1990
It’s not like there was anything to laugh about.
Thinking carefully, the thing wasn’t funny, no, wasn’t funny at all.
It wasn’t a matter of principle, either: in life there were things to laugh at and things not.
There were thousands of things at which you were allowed to indulge in a broad, relieving fit of laughter - one of those that makes your stomach tremble until you lose your breath, and your diaphragm hurt with discontinuous, violent stabs.
And there were things… well, things you couldn’t laugh at.
Not that these latter should necessarily be sad. There were a lot of non-sad things you should non-laugh at.
An old aunt who stumbled in the carpet, falling on her not-so-graceful ass, for example - She could happen to break a limb!
A passer-by who had been soaked from her head to her feet by the passage of a rude car through a puddle, and her beautiful Armani dress was ready to be thrown in the rubbish - I would have liked you have seen you in her place!
A little spark of the menorah which fell on the carpet’s fringe, setting that, the border of Amy’s skirt and a leg of the aunt’s chair on fire…
James Wilson, there was nothing to laugh at all.
When everything had settled down, you had needed to find a refuge in a corner far enough from your relatives’ shocked faces. The window, at the moment, had looked like a good choice. You could pretend to watch the snowflakes falling in the whitened garden, and cry and moan silently upon the misery of this ruined Hanukkah - but really, you just had a big wish to laugh, and thank God you had managed to suppress the first snorts that were coming out of your mouth.
Your reflected image in the glass was watching you with his outlines deformed by the effort of suppressing your laughter.
In the living room there was still a vague burnt smell, mixed with the synthetic foam of the extinguisher.
The carpet was gone, the chair wasn’t going to hold the weight of any Wilson matriarch anymore; your cousin Amy had shed warm tears on her skirt, and you can just imagine how much it had cost to her - its end was going to be the same as the aforementioned Armani dress.
The saddened guests had come back home, while your mother covered her fake disappointment with a fake brave smile. It had always surprised you how a person can pretend she’s suffering just to pretend she’s strong enough to try to hide it. Nevertheless, you thought she was really sorry - at least for the carpet. Maybe it was just the habit of fake smiles that teaches people to forget the natural ones.
You had said goodbye to your relatives, showed your sadness, expressed words of vague optimism, without helping but find the entire situation incredibly comical. Then you had come back to the window. In the reflection you could see your brother Paul wandering among the ashes of your Hanukkah. He had been abandoned in his desperate mission even by his wife Christine and their firstborn, who actually was still in her womb.
Then Paul had given up too.
«I’m going, Jimmy. Do you want me to leave the light on?»
«No, switch it off. Thanks.»
Out of the window, the garden lights illuminated your little corner of living room and your face.
In the glowing semi darkness of this Hanukkah, some slow steps, then some faster ones, crossed the room and stopped next to you.
«Luckily it burned just the paper.»
You took your gift with a smile, whispering “Thanks”, but you barely had enough time to open the package before David’s hands moved yours away, took the gift out of its ruined package, and placed it around your neck. Your brother stayed behind your shoulders, keeping the tie upon your chest, with the larger lap terribly near to your heart.
Then the tie hung by itself from your shoulders, and David’s arms hugged your waist and his lips searched for your ear. You had stopped laughing, and not because David wasn’t allowed to do what he was doing - but because there are a lot of non-sad things you shouldn’t laugh at, and one of these is your brother kissing you in the darkness of your living room.
Your hand caressing his was a sort of vague encouragement, but his fingers crossing with yours were a prayer. In the moment you leaned your head back to leave him the space he wanted, you knew that David was going to ask for more. That he wasn’t going to settle. Ever.
It should be his need which made him ask you for more and more, and it should be your need which made you unable to refuse anything.
«I love you.»
Between the lights and the burnt smell, it had nearly had the sound of a sacrificial formula.
Christmas 2010
It’s not like there was anything to laugh about.
You know this now, as you did at that time: laughing in the wrong moment can bring irreparable damages. However, you know as well that your shoulders - from which once hung a Regimental light blue tie - your shoulders are now wider, maybe more tired, but somehow happier - and a laugh escaping at the wrong moment won’t delete thousand of other laughs at the right moment. Loyalty, or trust, are not doubtful between the two of you.
However, you could have abstained from laughing right at his face.
Between the Not-to-Laugh things, now, you can add “cripple with cane who slides on the wrapping of his Christmas gift”. It’s kinda like your old aunt Betty, you’ve thought while you watched him falling on the floor. But House is funnier.
While he stands up, his gaze is full of confusion, and you can’t help but remember when his cane broke in two pieces, making him fly down in the middle of the hospital’s hallway. Anything to do with you, maybe?
In a moment you’ve understood that the bad leg was safe, and you couldn’t restrain yourself anymore. The pain was the only thing which could stop you from laughing, the only one you could show respect for.
You haven’t laughed so much, so good, at least for six years.
There’s a Christmas, which is buried in your memory, which you remember it was labelled as horrible - Julie you’d left alone with her guests, you drinking and eating and watching House celebrating with double Vicodin. Two years later, while you were driving under the rain and your hands trembled upon the wheel, fearing that something bad had happened to him, that Christmas seemed to you a priceless memory.
In your memory, House was laughing.
«Don’t know why but I think it’s your fault» he mutters now, standing up.
«I didn’t make you fall.»
House watches the floor, seeing what he stumbles on. «It’s the package of your gift» he tells you, accusingly.
«I distinctly remember telling you not to throw it on the floor.»
«And I distinctly remember telling you to pick it up, so I could watch your ass.»
He lets himself fall on the couch next to you, while the ending titles of the movie still flowing on the TV. You suddenly remember you should ask for a vision test. You have no problems seeing long distances, but when you read you have to move the book further and further from your eyes.
Distractedly, you wonder if the glasses would be flattering on your face.
House places a hand on your knee, and you place yours on his.
Neither of you had wish to do the Christmas tree, this year, and, thinking back, you probably saw your last lighted menorah when you were still with Julie. At that moment, anyway, she was already the one who made decorations.
You’ve assisted too many Hanukkahs with your family to think that a tree or a menorah can make you feel like home - that the dancing flames or the intermittent lights can really warm the atmosphere.
Talking about warmth, you prefer the human one, far and away.
You squeeze his hand distractedly, caressing his long fingers.
Your gift lies on the table, forgotten, for now.
You found it in a box at the bottom of House’s wardrobe. The red tie. At the moment you felt sad thinking House had thrown it away to forget about its existence.
Then you saw that in the box there were other things: the broken cane, the red and grey ball, the skateboard. The ticket to a Monster Trucks show you and he had gone to together.
You had the tie framed, even if the shop assistant looked at you as if you were insane.
House didn’t look at you as if you were insane. His comment was: «It’s a veiled way to tell me I better not wear it anymore? ‘Cause, you know, I didn’t choose it.»
«It’s a veiled way to tell you I don’t want you to forget why I gave it to you.»
«To make me look like an idiot?»
«Did you need to look like an idiot?»
He smiled, and you didn’t care if he liked the gift or not. The important thing was that he had understood.
«Another movie?» you propose now, without much enthusiasm.
«Let’s go to bed.»
«It’s not midnight yet.»
«Exactly. Let’s celebrate.»
Instead you celebrate on the couch, even if it’s uncomfortable and there’s little room, because it reminds you of the first time. It was summer, and the sweat crossed your bodies like liquid fire, and House seemed to be seriously about to experiment all the new possibilities offered by ketamine. You didn’t need to care about his bad leg, at that time, because the pain was gone.
But even if you have to measure your movements not to hurt him, now, you know that someway the two of you have reached the highest level of happiness you could. The thought inebriates and discourages you at the same time.
Not that what you have isn’t enough - you’re happy, and asking for more would be greediness. It’s just… the thought you touched a limit. The awareness that, from now, things can just remain as they are or get worse.
Damn, Jimmy Wilson, whenever had things been different?
Stop thinking and enjoy the night.
And merry Christmas.