House x Wilson

5

Wilson sat nervously as he waited for House to show. The bright-green block numbers on the digital clock read 6:57. He can't stand me up at his own house, he thought, but of course, in reality, he knew he could. House had a chair in his office where he slept all the time. Wilson fell onto the couch and looked down at what he wore. It was a maroon vest over a white long-sleeved shirt. It would be pathetic if he got stood up in that.

House thrusted the entry to the apartment open to see Wilson lying on his couch. He looked more than attractive in his I'm-a-kind-college-professor-who-wouldn't-hurt-a-fly demeanor. When House walked in, Wilson's dark eyes flickered up and momentary relief could be spotted in them.

"You're late," he stated, once the initial wave of solace dissipated. House was slightly better groomed than normal, his hair gelled and a red tie hanging loosely from his collared tee. The black jacket that hung from his toned arms seemed to have been dry-cleaned. Wilson hoped he had done that for him, rather than him just imagining House putting 10 minutes of effort into his appearance.

House brushed off Wilson's reprimand. "Only by an hour. This new case is killing me." He was only a day into the case and he realized how difficult it was going to be to solve the diagnosis.

Wilson stood up and guided his friend to the dinner table. He had a roast prepared and cut up onto plates. It would be lukewarm due to how long House decided to stay away but if it was microwaved it would lose its zest. Also, he had placed out House's favorite tortilla chips made homemade from a bakery in the city. He probably hadn't had any since he got out of jail. "Want to talk about it?" He said when they sat in front of their dishes.

House shot him a look. That was Wilson's move: being a great listener. He assumed that if he always let everyone whine they would treat him better but that simply wasn't true. As much as the diagnostician wanted to point this out, he figured that if he talked about the case, he might deduct a clue. "There's this patient with Alzheimer's—"

"Wait what happened to Tommy?" Wilson interrupted, as they began to eat.

"Who?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. How do you only have one patient for an entire week and not know his name? "Your last patient. The guy with the rifles in his basement."

"Ah." House thought back. "A pseudo-membrane was growing across his trachea causing his symptoms. Anyway, with the new patient, Foreman ordered me to do an ultrasound for confirmation of what we suspect he has. Steatohepatitis." He ground his teeth as he recalled when Foreman had brushed off his idea for a more aggressive test for favor of a dumb machine.

Wilson furrowed his brow. "That's how you confirm it, though. Right...?" It was just like House to want to try out cool, new, invasive procedures but that one seemed pretty standard.

"Yes, but Foreman ordered it. Do you not see the problem?" He grunted. Wilson may be casual about letting his ex-students boss him around but House would take no such treatment. Foreman was a sufficient dean of Medicine, some may even say good (not House). Although he just wasn't on his ex-boss' level when it came to the diagnose and treat routine.

Wilson considered that for a moment, wondering why he cared who ordered him around so much. He knew Foreman was no Cuddy, but he would put up with House's antics, nonetheless. The oncologist decided to change the subject. "I had an asexual patient, today," he said after a pause.

House glanced up from his meat. "Interesting," was all he said. People were biologically driven to have sex. It was a fact of life. It was part of what made the human race successful. He tried to think of a species that didn't instinctively want to perform the acts that cause reproduction, and came up with almost nothing. "So, like a plant?"

"She's young and attractive and married. She just doesn't want sex," Wilson shrugged. The girl seemed happy and lighthearted when he had met her. House wasn't quick to believe people could be happy living outside what he deemed normal. In fact, he wasn't quick to believe people could be happy at all. The sad thing was, he was often correct.

"I bet I could find a medical reason for that," he said, through a mouthful of food.

"I'm not betting on other people's happiness." He didn't need the image of a happy, non-sex based, relationship to fail. He was worried all of House's feelings for him were sexual and watching him try to prove people can't live without sex wasn't helping matters.

"Oh, come on, I won't contact the patient," House pressed. "If it turns out I'm wrong, and they're just a happy couple, I'll give you $100 and take you out to dinner."

"Fine," Wilson conceded. Those weren't the worst terms in the world. Usually, it was just the $100. He crossed his fingers under the table that House would lose the bet. He watched the corners of House's mouth curl up in triumph. He was probably already laying out a clever plan to expose Wilson's patient as confused.

"Wanna move this conversation to my room?" House said, innocently. He made sure to sweeten his voice so Wilson would understand what he was implying.

Wilson raised a single brow. "I thought you'd never ask." Just because he didn't want their relationship based on sex didn't mean it couldn't be part of it. He let House guided him into his bedroom and onto his low rise bed. It was chestnut colored with fluffy beige sheets. Some may even say it was better place to have sex than a cold bathroom floor. He pressed himself against House, pushing him against the edge of his bed as he pressed their lips together, softly at first, then more passionately. He bit at House's bottom lip and moving down to his jawline, to his neck, kissing every inch of skin available about his friend's collar.

House let out a soft moan and placed his hand on the back of Wilson's neck, pulling him as close as possible, then he slid his other hand from where it was resting on Wilson's chest down brushing his hand down until it reached the bulge in Wilson's jeans. He started rubbing.

It was Wilson's turn to moan and House took the opportunity to switch positions, pushing Wilson up against the bed and and fumbling to undo the button on Wilson's pants, never letting their lips part. After a few moments of fumbling, the button finally came loose and House shimmied Wilson's white boxers down just enough to get his dick out.

"Mmm House..." Wilson muttered against House's lips just before House got down and started to tease Wilson, gently tracing his tongue up and down the length of him.

Wilson let out a small gasp when House finally took him fully in his mouth and he wrapped his fingers in House's short hairs, guiding him. When Wilson was on the verge of climax, House stopped and stood up, kissing Wilson again.

"Why couldn't you keep going?" Wilson whined.

"Because we're nowhere near done yet." House answered with a smirk. He turned Wilson around and bent him over the bed. House pulled off Wilson's pants and undid his shirt and vest so that the Head of Oncology of Princeton Plainsburoh was completely naked in his apartment. House threw off his jacket and pulled his own shirt over his head and grabbed a bottle of lube from a drawer in his nightstand before unzipping his own jeans and getting to work. With his hand covered in lube, he slid in one finger and two until Wilson was nearly begging for his cock. Finally, House slid in, slowly and as gently as possible and he waited for Wilson's okay to keep going. House grabbed Wilson's hips so hard it would probably bruises. He could tell Wilson loved it by the way he grabbed the bed beneath him. Wilson leaned back into House as their rhythm gained speed.

"Faster, House," Wilson whimpered. Wilson could feel the squeeze of House's hands tighten as he listened and went faster and harder, a ripple of pleasure pulsating up to his brain. Wilson fell back even more as House leaned on him, both of them panting for a minute. Then House pulled him out and turned him around for a long deep kiss.