Ficlet: All You Have to Bring
Title: All You Have to Bring
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,200
Summary: Wilson wants a honeymoon to go with his gay wedding. Sequel to A Wonderful Institution
A/N: This was written for the fandomaid benefit for the Philippines. I'm (hopefully) filling writerdot's request for "fluffy slash."
A/N2: Title is from the old Mount Airy Lodge commercial, which proclaimed, "All you have to bring is your love of everything."
“A romantic trip to the Poconos, or a journey to simpler times in Amish country?”
House looked up from his journal to see Wilson leaning on the bedroom doorjamb, smiling softly, bare forearms crossed. Clearly, House registered, he was aiming to get his way with something.
Hopefully me.
He sat up a little higher against the headboard and eyed Wilson from over the rim of his glasses. “What, now?”
“The Poconos or Amish Country.” Wilson dipped his chin, causing a ridiculous curl to fall across his forehead. Then he looked at House with his faux shy eyes, like the diabolical bastard he was. “I thought maybe after our quickie wedding on Friday, we could zip over the state line for a quickie honeymoon.”
Oh gawd. Wilson’s gay was getting out of control again.
House set the journal aside and folded his hands on his belly. “Why would we do that when we can just zip home for a quickie quickie? Or better yet, use the whole weekend for one hot longie?” He gazed down at his crotch. “Speaking of hot longies.”
Wilson closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. Why would I look outside these walls for romance?”
House wrinkled his nose. “Romance? You do realize that after our wedding we’ll still both be men, right?”
Wilson stepped closer, putting his hands on his hips, and House suppressed a grin as he readied himself for some world-class bitching. He’d never say as much, but he loved a good Wilsonian tirade. The red face and schizotypal gestures provided an amusing show, and once the dust settled, a pissed-off Wilson often became a…frisky Wilson.
Much to his chagrin, though, Wilson merely pressed his lips together and looked down at his own sock-clad feet. When he met House’s eyes again, it was obvious he’d decided on a non-confrontational tack.
“OK,” he said mildly. “Romance is the wrong word.”
“You wanna go to Mount Airy Lodge and sit in a heart-shaped tub, drinking champagne,” House reminded him. For an instant, an image of that scenario took over his mind’s eye, and it didn’t actually make him gag. Which was horrifying.
Wilson opened and closed his mouth. “I do not-I never-Mount Airy Lodge is not the only place to go in the Poconos.”
House just stared and waited for his betrothed to lose the argument.
“The Poconos are very manly,” Wilson contended. “There’s…They have bears.”
“Burly gay men?”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Nooo. Actual bears.” He held his hands up like claws.
“Oh,” House chirped. “So for our gay honeymoon, you want us to be mauled by heterosexual grizzlies.”
Wilson frowned. “There are no grizzlies in Pennsylvania.” He crossed his arms. “And why do you assume they’d be heterosexual?”
“Sorry. Am I being dismissive of the gay-grizzly community?”
Wilson splayed his hands in front of his chest. “Fine. Let’s avoid a further descent into insanity, shall we? How about Amish country?”
“That’s your detour out of insanity?”
Wilson’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s crazy about the Amish? I mean, besides the horse-and-buggy thing, and the no-electricity thing…”
“And the life-based-on-a-literal-interpretation-of-the-bible thing.”
“I think it would be fascinating to see how they live,” Wilson protested. “You know they speak a dialect of German, don’t you? I wonder if you could communicate with them in their language.”
House wagged an index finger. “You’re trying to pique my curiosity, aren’t you? Why don’t you get over here and pique something else?”
Wilson exhaled loudly, and for a moment House thought he’d won the evening. But Wilson quickly regained his composure.
“I just think it would be healthy for us to have a quiet getaway. No pagers, no cell phones. No interruptions when we’re…you know.” He made a gesture that could be construed as either lewd, or a simulation of an Amish person churning butter.
House scratched at his stubble. The no interruptions during You Know sounded cool. On the other hand…
“You really think it’s a good idea for two guys to spend a weekend humping in Amishland? They might string us up, or dunk us in the river till we confess to practicing gay-craft.”
“Uh, it’s not Salem. And this is not 1693.”
“Tell that to your precious Amish-if you speak sorta-German, that is.”
Wilson put a hand to the back of his neck, and House narrowed his eyes. That move could mean Wilson was throwing in the towel, or plotting his next step; House was never sure until-
Wilson sighed dramatically. “OK.” But instead of moping his way out the door, he began to stroll to his own side of the bed.
Hmm. He’s not done. If “not done” entailed Wilson crawling into bed with him, he was willing to see where this would go.
Wilson casually flopped down then turned to his side. House resumed his reading, doing his best to ignore the familiar feeling of those eyes studying him.
“Whatcha reading?”
House sighed. “Case report on deep dermatophytosis reaching the brain. Wanna see the pictures?” He looked down at Wilson, who was smiling slightly.
Shit.
“Uh-uh,” Wilson replied, then proceeded to leisurely straddle his lap and slip his glasses off. Vaguely, House thought he should put a stop to this, but certain body parts were disagreeing. He involuntarily tensed when Wilson leaned in close to his ear to seductively whisper, “I wanna go to Amish country.”
Seriously?
House shoved him back. “Seriously? That’s probably the least sexy thing you’ve ever said. Oh no, wait. That would be, ‘Not tonight. I have an early appointment to laser this plantar wart.’”
Wilson smirked in that way that made House want to punch him, or do other things to him. “Well, that was really for you. I know how you love to kiss my feet.”
House glared. “That is false in every sense of the phrase. Now get your enormous ass off of me before you do damage.”
Wilson broke out the pout-escalating his game to Level Three. “All I’m asking is to have a mini-honeymoon. Not even two full days.”
“Oh, please. That’s all you’re asking? First, you asked me to marry you-”
“I already apologized for that.”
“Then you bought me a new suit.”
Wilson crossed his arms. “Yeah. You should really charge me with spousal abuse.”
“And now, you’re asking me to spend an entire weekend frolicking among the Amish?”
That was greeted with a prolonged silence. House watched as Wilson worked his jaw and appeared to be calculating the risk-benefit ratio of various responses. Finally, he took a deep breath.
“Yes.”
House automatically opened his mouth, but found no words were available. He was actually thrown off by the simple reply.
Huh.
Wilson, probably sensing a crack in his resistance, unleashed the puppy eyes, and House realized they’d advanced to Level Four: Extreme Wilson.
“Is it actually wrong that I wanna go somewhere quiet and secluded with my new husband?”
Yes, House wanted to say, but the word got lodged somewhere between his brain and his vocal cords.
Wilson smiled a little. “So I can make a reservation?”
House just blinked. What the hell? He wondered if he’d suffered a tiny stroke that was impairing his logic, verbal ability and balls.
The smile broadened. “Thanks, House.” Wilson gave him a peck on the cheek before carefully rolling off of him and heading for the door.
House shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “Wait,” he barked.
Wilson halted in his tracks then slowly turned around. “Yeah?”
He looked a little worried, House noted with some satisfaction. In fact, he decided, that was probably all the punishment Wilson required for this particular transgression. For now.
“I’m driving,” House proclaimed.
Wilson bit his lip and nodded. “OK. Whatever you say.”
“Damn right,” House muttered, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. “Now can I get back to this fungal infection page-turner?”
Wilson nodded again, then quietly disappeared into the dark hallway.
Good, House told himself as he returned his attention to the unfortunate Patient B. Yes, he’d be spending his weekend in Bible Land, but he was pretty sure he’d just set an important car-related boundary. Or something.
Anyway, House reasoned, matters like weddings, honeymoons and the Amish were woman territory, and he could easily yield that kind of decision-making to Wilson.
Yep. House almost smiled as he settled into the pillows. After all, they both knew who’d be in charge of this marriage.
-TBC?? (since I owe menolly a fic and she likes sequels :) )
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,200
Summary: Wilson wants a honeymoon to go with his gay wedding. Sequel to A Wonderful Institution
A/N: This was written for the fandomaid benefit for the Philippines. I'm (hopefully) filling writerdot's request for "fluffy slash."
A/N2: Title is from the old Mount Airy Lodge commercial, which proclaimed, "All you have to bring is your love of everything."
“A romantic trip to the Poconos, or a journey to simpler times in Amish country?”
House looked up from his journal to see Wilson leaning on the bedroom doorjamb, smiling softly, bare forearms crossed. Clearly, House registered, he was aiming to get his way with something.
Hopefully me.
He sat up a little higher against the headboard and eyed Wilson from over the rim of his glasses. “What, now?”
“The Poconos or Amish Country.” Wilson dipped his chin, causing a ridiculous curl to fall across his forehead. Then he looked at House with his faux shy eyes, like the diabolical bastard he was. “I thought maybe after our quickie wedding on Friday, we could zip over the state line for a quickie honeymoon.”
Oh gawd. Wilson’s gay was getting out of control again.
House set the journal aside and folded his hands on his belly. “Why would we do that when we can just zip home for a quickie quickie? Or better yet, use the whole weekend for one hot longie?” He gazed down at his crotch. “Speaking of hot longies.”
Wilson closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. Why would I look outside these walls for romance?”
House wrinkled his nose. “Romance? You do realize that after our wedding we’ll still both be men, right?”
Wilson stepped closer, putting his hands on his hips, and House suppressed a grin as he readied himself for some world-class bitching. He’d never say as much, but he loved a good Wilsonian tirade. The red face and schizotypal gestures provided an amusing show, and once the dust settled, a pissed-off Wilson often became a…frisky Wilson.
Much to his chagrin, though, Wilson merely pressed his lips together and looked down at his own sock-clad feet. When he met House’s eyes again, it was obvious he’d decided on a non-confrontational tack.
“OK,” he said mildly. “Romance is the wrong word.”
“You wanna go to Mount Airy Lodge and sit in a heart-shaped tub, drinking champagne,” House reminded him. For an instant, an image of that scenario took over his mind’s eye, and it didn’t actually make him gag. Which was horrifying.
Wilson opened and closed his mouth. “I do not-I never-Mount Airy Lodge is not the only place to go in the Poconos.”
House just stared and waited for his betrothed to lose the argument.
“The Poconos are very manly,” Wilson contended. “There’s…They have bears.”
“Burly gay men?”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Nooo. Actual bears.” He held his hands up like claws.
“Oh,” House chirped. “So for our gay honeymoon, you want us to be mauled by heterosexual grizzlies.”
Wilson frowned. “There are no grizzlies in Pennsylvania.” He crossed his arms. “And why do you assume they’d be heterosexual?”
“Sorry. Am I being dismissive of the gay-grizzly community?”
Wilson splayed his hands in front of his chest. “Fine. Let’s avoid a further descent into insanity, shall we? How about Amish country?”
“That’s your detour out of insanity?”
Wilson’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s crazy about the Amish? I mean, besides the horse-and-buggy thing, and the no-electricity thing…”
“And the life-based-on-a-literal-interpretation-of-the-bible thing.”
“I think it would be fascinating to see how they live,” Wilson protested. “You know they speak a dialect of German, don’t you? I wonder if you could communicate with them in their language.”
House wagged an index finger. “You’re trying to pique my curiosity, aren’t you? Why don’t you get over here and pique something else?”
Wilson exhaled loudly, and for a moment House thought he’d won the evening. But Wilson quickly regained his composure.
“I just think it would be healthy for us to have a quiet getaway. No pagers, no cell phones. No interruptions when we’re…you know.” He made a gesture that could be construed as either lewd, or a simulation of an Amish person churning butter.
House scratched at his stubble. The no interruptions during You Know sounded cool. On the other hand…
“You really think it’s a good idea for two guys to spend a weekend humping in Amishland? They might string us up, or dunk us in the river till we confess to practicing gay-craft.”
“Uh, it’s not Salem. And this is not 1693.”
“Tell that to your precious Amish-if you speak sorta-German, that is.”
Wilson put a hand to the back of his neck, and House narrowed his eyes. That move could mean Wilson was throwing in the towel, or plotting his next step; House was never sure until-
Wilson sighed dramatically. “OK.” But instead of moping his way out the door, he began to stroll to his own side of the bed.
Hmm. He’s not done. If “not done” entailed Wilson crawling into bed with him, he was willing to see where this would go.
Wilson casually flopped down then turned to his side. House resumed his reading, doing his best to ignore the familiar feeling of those eyes studying him.
“Whatcha reading?”
House sighed. “Case report on deep dermatophytosis reaching the brain. Wanna see the pictures?” He looked down at Wilson, who was smiling slightly.
Shit.
“Uh-uh,” Wilson replied, then proceeded to leisurely straddle his lap and slip his glasses off. Vaguely, House thought he should put a stop to this, but certain body parts were disagreeing. He involuntarily tensed when Wilson leaned in close to his ear to seductively whisper, “I wanna go to Amish country.”
Seriously?
House shoved him back. “Seriously? That’s probably the least sexy thing you’ve ever said. Oh no, wait. That would be, ‘Not tonight. I have an early appointment to laser this plantar wart.’”
Wilson smirked in that way that made House want to punch him, or do other things to him. “Well, that was really for you. I know how you love to kiss my feet.”
House glared. “That is false in every sense of the phrase. Now get your enormous ass off of me before you do damage.”
Wilson broke out the pout-escalating his game to Level Three. “All I’m asking is to have a mini-honeymoon. Not even two full days.”
“Oh, please. That’s all you’re asking? First, you asked me to marry you-”
“I already apologized for that.”
“Then you bought me a new suit.”
Wilson crossed his arms. “Yeah. You should really charge me with spousal abuse.”
“And now, you’re asking me to spend an entire weekend frolicking among the Amish?”
That was greeted with a prolonged silence. House watched as Wilson worked his jaw and appeared to be calculating the risk-benefit ratio of various responses. Finally, he took a deep breath.
“Yes.”
House automatically opened his mouth, but found no words were available. He was actually thrown off by the simple reply.
Huh.
Wilson, probably sensing a crack in his resistance, unleashed the puppy eyes, and House realized they’d advanced to Level Four: Extreme Wilson.
“Is it actually wrong that I wanna go somewhere quiet and secluded with my new husband?”
Yes, House wanted to say, but the word got lodged somewhere between his brain and his vocal cords.
Wilson smiled a little. “So I can make a reservation?”
House just blinked. What the hell? He wondered if he’d suffered a tiny stroke that was impairing his logic, verbal ability and balls.
The smile broadened. “Thanks, House.” Wilson gave him a peck on the cheek before carefully rolling off of him and heading for the door.
House shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “Wait,” he barked.
Wilson halted in his tracks then slowly turned around. “Yeah?”
He looked a little worried, House noted with some satisfaction. In fact, he decided, that was probably all the punishment Wilson required for this particular transgression. For now.
“I’m driving,” House proclaimed.
Wilson bit his lip and nodded. “OK. Whatever you say.”
“Damn right,” House muttered, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. “Now can I get back to this fungal infection page-turner?”
Wilson nodded again, then quietly disappeared into the dark hallway.
Good, House told himself as he returned his attention to the unfortunate Patient B. Yes, he’d be spending his weekend in Bible Land, but he was pretty sure he’d just set an important car-related boundary. Or something.
Anyway, House reasoned, matters like weddings, honeymoons and the Amish were woman territory, and he could easily yield that kind of decision-making to Wilson.
Yep. House almost smiled as he settled into the pillows. After all, they both knew who’d be in charge of this marriage.
-TBC?? (since I owe menolly a fic and she likes sequels :) )