House MD Fanfiction

The Piano Has Been Drinking

Hilson, Domesticity, 603 words
By: devlandiablo

Lyrics from ‘The Piano Has Been Drinking’ by Tom Waits: “And you can't find your waitress with a Geiger counter/And she hates you and your friends and you just can't get served without her/And the box-office is drooling, and the bar stools are on fire/And the newspapers were fooling, and the ash-trays have retired/because the piano has been drinking, the piano has been drinking/The piano has been drinking, not me, not me, not me, not me, not me...”

Wilson heard the music through the apartment door before he even got within ten feet of it. He shifted the bag of groceries to the other hand and unlocked the door. He sighed at seeing House spread out on the couch with a bottle of Jack in his hand.

He nodded his head listlessly to the music, singing along. “And you can’t find your waitress with a Geiger counter…”

James smiled and slipped his hand over Greg’s arm where it lay over the back of the couch on his way to the kitchen. He put the groceries away and settled himself at the front of the couch, next to where Greg dangled the liquor. He took a slug and hissed at the burn before handing the bottle back over.

They didn’t talk, just sat, or lay there in Greg’s case, and listened to the rest of Tom Wait’s ‘Small Changes’ album. When the CD ended, Greg sighed and eased his way up, the half-empty bottle set on the coffee table with a steady hand.

James’ head lolled and his hazed eyes followed Greg as he walked easily without his cane. It still brought a smile to his face, the memory of Greg’s miracle cure- muscle grafts, stem-cells and therapy, resulting in him being able to walk and a long-delayed confession of love.

He snapped his hand up and caught the ball that was heading for his head without even looking at it- he knew it was coming. Greg could be so predictable sometimes, though only with James. He didn’t let anyone else that close.

He hopped up and the two of them made dinner together, not needing to speak. They left the dishes in the sink and went into the bedroom, stripping to nothing and curling up naked, Greg at James’ back. They napped for a few hours, sleeping off the alcohol. Neither of the workaholics had to work tomorrow, even though it was Christmas and with any other partner they’d be at PPTH, but not with each other. They’d finally learned their lesson on that front.

James woke from his doze to Greg slipping two slicked fingers into his loosened hole. He moaned and pushed back, and Greg kissed him on the neck, his raspy stubble rubbing him just this side of painful. Another finger slipped in with more lube, and then Greg was on his back, turning him onto his stomach, slipping into him slow and easy.

James hissed and buried his face into the pillow and held on to Greg’s hands.

They made love quietly, slowly. Both had had a hard day: James had lost two cancer kids, and Greg had made no progress on another mysterious diagnosis. They finished together and slid back under the covers after wiping up with the wetnaps they kept by the bed. This time James ended up curled up against Greg’s back, his soft cock nestled between them.

“Love you.” James whispered in Greg’s ear.

“Damn straight.”

James laughed. “No, not really.”

“Go to sleep, Wilson.” Greg snuggled back against James’ chest, and the two fell asleep again.

Life was good.