Mmm.
Title: The Great Romantics
Summary: It was warm when Wilson woke up.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 384
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, make-outs, groping, established relationship, a slightly silly narrator
Pairing: House/Wilson/Cuddy
A/N: Happy fluff_friday! This has nothing to do with anything, except for the fact that I feel like I never write House fic anymore.
It was warm when Wilson woke up, and the proximal cause was definitely Cuddy.
He was certain she hadn't been quite so close when they'd fallen asleep; but some time in the night she seemed to have migrated. He hadn't even remembered extending his arm so she could lay her head on it, but there it was. She had his other arm, too, draped around her and sort of pinned between her breasts.
There were definitely worse ways to wake up.
Contrary to what you might be thinking, Wilson wasn't really a cuddling type of person. It made him feel a little bit trapped, somehow, even when there was absolutely no reason to want to run. He'd done an awful lot of it, though, because women liked it, and he'd never been any good at turning them down.
And Cuddy just looked gorgeous, her hair loose and wild on his pillow with the morning light playing off of it. And Wilson was always like this the morning after, quiescent and pliant and possibly slightly loopy, and other than being too warm, it was really nice. Moreover, it had been a very long time since he'd been waking up next to anyone at all; just this once, he could probably be persuaded to make an exception.
The finger poking at his hip ruined the effect somewhat, however.
“What?” he asked, keeping his voice down.
“Let's wake her up and do stuff to her.”
Wilson snorted. “You're the last of the great romantics, you know that?”
House palmed his ass almost casually. “You love it.”
“If you're waking me up, there better be pancakes or sex,” Cuddy muttered into Wilson's arm.
“You heard the woman,” House said, slapping him lightly. “Get back to the kitchen.”
“You know,” he replied, stretching his legs and rolling his hips back against House's, “you'll have to get up to let me out.”
“Dammit,” House swore. “Have to be the other thing you're good at, then.”
“Oncology?”
Cuddy rolled over, Wilson's arm's still around her, still looking muzzy and half-asleep. “Both of you talk too damn much,” she complained, shutting him up with a kiss.
It was still too warm, even when House tugged his shirt off and Cuddy flung his boxers halfway across the room.
Wilson didn't really care.
Summary: It was warm when Wilson woke up.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 384
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, make-outs, groping, established relationship, a slightly silly narrator
Pairing: House/Wilson/Cuddy
A/N: Happy fluff_friday! This has nothing to do with anything, except for the fact that I feel like I never write House fic anymore.
It was warm when Wilson woke up, and the proximal cause was definitely Cuddy.
He was certain she hadn't been quite so close when they'd fallen asleep; but some time in the night she seemed to have migrated. He hadn't even remembered extending his arm so she could lay her head on it, but there it was. She had his other arm, too, draped around her and sort of pinned between her breasts.
There were definitely worse ways to wake up.
Contrary to what you might be thinking, Wilson wasn't really a cuddling type of person. It made him feel a little bit trapped, somehow, even when there was absolutely no reason to want to run. He'd done an awful lot of it, though, because women liked it, and he'd never been any good at turning them down.
And Cuddy just looked gorgeous, her hair loose and wild on his pillow with the morning light playing off of it. And Wilson was always like this the morning after, quiescent and pliant and possibly slightly loopy, and other than being too warm, it was really nice. Moreover, it had been a very long time since he'd been waking up next to anyone at all; just this once, he could probably be persuaded to make an exception.
The finger poking at his hip ruined the effect somewhat, however.
“What?” he asked, keeping his voice down.
“Let's wake her up and do stuff to her.”
Wilson snorted. “You're the last of the great romantics, you know that?”
House palmed his ass almost casually. “You love it.”
“If you're waking me up, there better be pancakes or sex,” Cuddy muttered into Wilson's arm.
“You heard the woman,” House said, slapping him lightly. “Get back to the kitchen.”
“You know,” he replied, stretching his legs and rolling his hips back against House's, “you'll have to get up to let me out.”
“Dammit,” House swore. “Have to be the other thing you're good at, then.”
“Oncology?”
Cuddy rolled over, Wilson's arm's still around her, still looking muzzy and half-asleep. “Both of you talk too damn much,” she complained, shutting him up with a kiss.
It was still too warm, even when House tugged his shirt off and Cuddy flung his boxers halfway across the room.
Wilson didn't really care.