House MD Fanfiction

Occam's Razor: Fun and Games

Hilson, Smut, 2,214 words
By: gracefultree

“You are not well-adjusted,” House declared, handing Wilson a bottle of beer as he sat on the couch next to him, referencing Wilson’s comment from earlier in the day when he’d been ransacking the pharmacy for colchicine. Wilson smiled.

“Neither are you,” Wilson responded, laughing amiably. House seemed to be in a good mood, which had been rare of late. He wanted to encourage it. Plus, it was fun to be around a happy (or at least not totally miserable) House.

“Never claimed to be.”

Wilson sipped his beer. “Why am I not well-adjusted today?” he finally asked.

“You’ve been flirting with me all week.” Wilson choked on his beer, not expecting the verbal acknowledgement. “No one who’s well-adjusted flirts with me. You also showed no interest in the kid’s hot young girlfriend.”

“She’s young enough to be my daughter!”

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

House rested his feet on the coffee table and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I was right.”

“About?”

“Colchicine. Small yellow pills, no letter. The cough medicine had a letter on it.”

“You solved the case. Twice. Will you let it go?”

“Will you back up your flirting?”

“Back up my —“

House lowered his feet to the ground, snaked his free hand around the back of Wilson’s neck and tugged him forward. Wilson went easily, letting House pull him closer and closer until they were a hair’s breadth apart. They both closed their eyes and waited, breath intermingling between their faces. House’s hand moved to rest on Wilson’s shoulder.

It was a familiar game between them. Who could outlast the other? Who would break down first and lean away? Would one of them finally take the plunge and kiss the other?

They’d been playing the game for years.

The first time they played was seven years ago. Wilson lost a bet to House and they’d gone to a gay club so Wilson could pick up a man, then leave him wanting. Neither of them expected House to be the man in question, not when he was undeniably with Stacy. That Wilson was with Bonnie was a moot point. He’d lost the bet, after all, and House knew about the nurse he was seeing on the side.

They spent the night flirting outrageously with the men around them, but more often with each other. They ended up on the dance floor, shoved together by the boisterous crowd, their bodies pressed together and Wilson breathing hotly onto House’s ear. House turned to him, staring at him in the strobe-lighting, feeling the base through their feet and knees and hips. They watched each other, ready, each waiting for the other to make the next move, to kiss, to grab, to grind.

That was probably the only place and time they’d have been able to acknowledge their attraction to each other, Wilson reasoned later, once the game was in full swing.

“Gotcha,” Wilson whispered, his tongue slipping out to run along the edge of House’s ear, pulling away as soon as he’d done it. Wilson sashayed away from a gobsmacked House. Part of him had really wanted to kiss him, but the other part couldn’t stomach the idea of what that would do to their already screwed-up relationship. Make it more screwed up? He wasn’t willing to take that risk.

Nor was he willing to risk the fallout to his marriage and House’s relationship with Stacy.

Later, they defined the rules. They didn’t talk, of course, but it became clear that whenever they flirted, the game would happen within a day or two, and whoever pulled away first had to buy the next round or six-pack. Sometimes, there was a whisper, or a puff of air on the ear of the winner. Occasionally, very occasionally, there was that hint of tongue.