House MD Fanfiction

Gumboots

Hilson, smut, 3765 words
By: marginaliana

James Wilson was tired, bone tired. He'd spent the day trying to keep people from dying and not always succeeding, as usual, and he'd had a thoroughly depressing meeting with Julie and their lawyers in which she made it plain that she thought him quite worthless except for the money she was going to wring out of the divorce.

And now he was in a cab with House, heading downtown to their favorite bar - a cab because House couldn't be expected to drive at the end of a day when his leg hurt and because Wilson, despite being responsible for the cooking and cleaning and practical activity in the apartment, wanted, for once, to not be responsible, to not owe anyone anything, and to get very, very drunk.

House was silent for once, and Wilson rested his head against the cool glass of the cab window. 

"Boy, aren't we a barrel of laughs today, eh, Wilson?" said House suddenly, and Wilson jerked from his semi-relaxed stupor.

"Mmm," he said. "Yeah, we should go on TV or something. Monster Truck Mania With Greg and Jimmy."

House snorted. "Or better yet, we could solve medical mysteries together. We could be like Holmes and Watson. You'd be Watson, of course, the devoted hanger-on, and I'd be Holmes, the misanthropic genius."

Wilson smiled at the aptness of the comparison. 

"Of course," continued House blithely, "Holmes and Watson were totally doing each other." Wilson choked on his own spit and spent a few minutes coughing.

"What?" he finally wheezed out, catching sight of the cabbie's smirk in the rearview mirror out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh, come on, Wilson. It's obvious. Two men, best friends, one of whom doesn't like anybody but strangely allows his friend to get close to him and the other of whom spends all his time helping his friend instead of staying at home with his wife? What other motive could there be besides suppressed lust and longing?" He said this last with obvious relish and Wilson couldn't help enjoying the warm feeling he always got when House was enthusiastic about something. 

"Alright, even given your theories about the characters’ motivations, what makes you think they'd have acted on them? Especially given the prejudices of the time period." For a moment, the cares of the hospital and the burdens of trying to make a respectable life for himself fell away as Wilson slipped into his customary 'playfully arguing with House and his ridiculous ideas' zone.

"Well, Holmes would have noticed the fiery heat of Watson's secret desire, of course, because he notices everything," said House, laying out his points in the same completely straight-faced manner as one might use to make a diagnosis. "And since he's an arrogant bastard, not without reason, mind you, he wouldn't be able to let an opportunity like that go by without doing something about it. And of course Watson is unable to resist him, despite the forbidden nature of their passion. Hence, they're doing it. From about, oh, The Empty House onward, I'd say."

Wilson leaned against the door of the cab and stared at his friend, eyes wide in an overdramatic gesture of surprise. "Wow, House," he said sarcastically, "I had no idea you were so up on Victorian homosexuals. Have you been taking a class?" House fluttered his eyelashes teasingly. "Let's assume that I grant your crazyass supposition about Holmes and Watson." 

House interrupted, "Is that crazyass supposition or crazy ass supposition?" 

"Either. In any case, what's your point? That our hypothetical hit medical mystery show would involve us faking a homoerotic subtext? I think I'm okay with that."

"No, my point is that in order for us to get started on the road to having more interesting Friday nights, not to mention having possible success in cable television, we need to deal with our existing homoerotic subtext, or more precisely we need to deal with the flames of your wild and burning passion for me, and my, uh, not insignificant fondness for you."