House MD Fanfiction

Infusion

Hilson, almost smut, 3,649 words
By: teh_Jules
(This story was translated from German.)

Wilson had told House at the end of her lunchtime that Julie would go to New York, a charity event, for this Friday, and come home late. This was almost as good as an invitation, even though it meant the house itself had to get the beer itself, since the Wilsons were very well equipped with wine, but beer was nothing Julie liked to see in her refrigerator.

This was something that all Wilson's wives had in common. That, and they had no taste in neckties (although House itself also could imagine that Wilson had this to answer for himself).

This naturally raised House's question of the criteria Wilson chose his wife, or whether he simply asked which of the women he was sleeping with at the time was the least suited to him.

Well, he exaggerated.

But of course had Wilson a problem. Obviously, as he kept repeating one and the same mistake. House did not know what Wilson was doing: very confident or just blinded and naive.

Wilson blanched, played something to man. Not because he wanted it himself, rather because others expected it.D a lay Houses opinion, his problem: He married women to Dr. James Wilson, his house, the white fence in front of it, the silver Mercedes and the idealized notion of family (The even after 36 years in this miserable planet not quite Had disappeared from his head).

Unfortunately, these women had no idea what to do with the man underneath.

What perhaps (or at least partially, since Houses changed theories Wilson from day to day) explained why Wilson spent more time with him than with the current wife.

Or why the married women started to turn to other things from a certain point in time, whether it was charity work or the pool boy, did not play a bigger role in this case.

Julie was gone and House would go to his friend's house for the evening, pretending he could not see the shards of his marriage among all the designer furniture and perfectly-aligned images in the living room.

Everything about the house was strangely sober and unfulfilled, so that even Wilson always seemed to be a stranger.

House felt when he sat down on the couch a little as if they were sitting in his parents' house and celebrating a party until they came back. It felt odd and forbidden. It was just right for this evening.

House threw the nachos on the coffee table in front of the sofa, stripped off his shoes, and laid his feet on the table. He could hear Wilson in the kitchen. He put two bottles on the worktop, the rest of the beer in the refrigerator.

On television, a preview for the next episode of ran The OC and House turned the volume up a little more to annoy Wilson than to try to really hear what would happen.

He did not look up when he could hear Wilson enter the living room, and he did not look up when he put the beer in his hand and finally sat next to him.

It lasted until the second beer, Wilson first loosened his tie, and finally, when the bottle was half empty, the shirt sleeve rolled up. House looked up at this point.Meanwhile they saw Tomb Raider and Wilson's gaze was fixed on Angelina Julie's breasts, his fingers the fabric moved up. Wilson's underarms appeared bright and perfect in the flashing light of the television. House observed this process carefully.

He leaned back and took another sip of beer before finally making a long overdue comparison between Angelina's and Cuddy's décolleté, which made Wilson laugh (he barely bared his neck, this almost roundness, the elevation of his Adam's apple.) House Licked contented crumbs from his fingers without turning the look of Wilson.