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“Isn’t this a little juvenile?” Wilson asked, hands going to his hips in judgment.
Kutner rolled his eyes and crossed his legs on the floor. “Who invited their dad?”
Wilson huffed and sighed, expecting at least one person to be on his side. Instead of that happening, House entered the bedroom and made a drunkenly delighted noise as he gingerly lowered himself to the floor, right leg extended.
“The last time I played this, I caught mono,” he said, excited. “I missed a week of school.”
Wilson crossed his arms over his chest, still standing over the group of grownups, mostly doctors, sitting in a circle on the floor of his bedroom with an empty bottle in the middle of them. He was drunk and wanted to sleep, but that wasn’t possible with House deciding to throw Chase a bachelor party in Wilson’s apartment.
Thirteen, being the queen of middle school games, spun the bottle first. It landed on a stripper, Karamel, causing the men in the group to wolf whistle as the women kissed on the lips.
As Taub spun the bottle, House looked over at Wilson. Wilson looked back at him, and House blinked and looked away.
Taub also got to kiss a stripper. Foreman kissed Thirteen (boring), Chase kissed a stripper, Kutner kissed Thirteen, then it was House’s turn.
House once again looked over at Wilson as he spun the bottle. It landed on Karamel. House smiled and kissed her enthusiastically, slipping her a little bit of tongue.
“Alright, fuck it,” Wilson said, mostly to himself, as he joined the circle.
He sat across from House and made eye contact with him once more as he crossed his legs underneath himself.
When Wilson spun the bottle, it landed on Thirteen.
“Ooh, lucky me,” Thirteen joked as she leaned over the short distance between them with a grin on her face.
Before Wilson could process what was happening, Thirteen grabbed the side of his face and kissed him hard and fast. A few people cheered.
When they broke apart, Wilson first made eye contact with Foreman, who only laughed and shook his head. Then, he made eye contact with House, who had an eyebrow raised and his jaw clenched.
When Thirteen spun the bottle again, it landed on House. She said, “Ooh, lucky me again,” and went to all fours to cross the circle and kiss House.
House laughed against her mouth and bit her lip as she pulled away. He winked at her as she wiped her mouth.
Wilson swallowed.
When Chase spun the bottle, it landed on House.
It was the first time in the game that a man had to kiss another man, and everyone in the circle ooh’ed and aah’ed like it was a never-before-seen taboo.
Everyone except Chase, who was so drunk that he clapped his hands together and shouted, “God, I wish you were still my boss while I did this,” then put both his hands to House’s face and yanked him in for a sloppy kiss.
House made a surprised noise and put his palm to Chase’s chest, but not to push him away. He stabilized him there and held the kiss, both of them unmoving until they broke away after several long seconds.
While everyone cheered, House ducked his head and wiped his mouth. When he raised his eyes, he found Wilson’s yet again. He smiled softly at him and discreetly winked.
When it was House’s turn, the bottle landed on a stripper sitting right next to Wilson.
When it was Wilson’s turn, the bottle landed on House.
There was a indecipherable murmur around the circle. Wilson went on all fours to cross the middle and accidentally dropped his hand to the bottle, making him slip. He laughed as he regained his balance, and House was right in front of him, also laughing, and then House’s hand was on his cheek and his lips were pressed to his.
It was brief and chaste. Thirteen booed them.
The next time House spun the bottle, it landed on Wilson.
Wilson once again went to all fours, knowing it would be harder for House to cross the circle. This time, House cupped Wilson’s head, fingers pressed to his neck and thumb in front of his ear, and he moved his lips against Wilson’s in a steady rhythm. Surprised, Wilson made a humming noise and matched his movements, kissing him back.
Wilson pulled away, but House’s strong hand pulled him back in for one more peck on the lips before releasing him.
“Now that’s more like it,” Kutner said, clapping patronizingly.
When Wilson spun the bottle, it landed on Taub. They looked at each other like “what are you going to do?” then very briefly kissed on the lips. Thirteen didn’t boo this time.
The game was dragging after a few rounds. Pretty much everyone had kissed everyone else, but nobody seemed willing to be the one to call it quits.
On House’s turn, the bottle landed on Wilson.
“Hm, sure seems like you’re doing that on purpose,” Foreman said meanly, but House ignored him.
He crossed the circle for Wilson this time, his leg be damned, and once again put a strong hand to the side of Wilson’s face.
This time, House enthusiastically shoved his tongue in Wilson’s mouth. Wilson fisted his hand into the front of House’s t-shirt and gave as good as he got, forcing his mouth open wide to take more of House in. They moved their lips furiously, tongues locked together, teeth grazing and noses knocking.
When they pulled away, Wilson was breathless. He studied House’s face at the close distance, at the way his pupils were blown and his eyelids hooded.
“Alright, game over I guess,” Thirteen announced. “We’ll leave you two alone; all you had to do was ask.”
Everyone laughed, including House, who blinked himself out of his haze and moved away from Wilson, avoiding eye contact with him.
As the party broke up and moved out of Wilson’s bedroom, Wilson scrubbed his hand over his mouth and decided it would be a good idea to have another drink.
Within half an hour, Wilson was sloshed, pantsless, and had Karamel in his lap. Music blared loudly while she gave him a lap dance, and when he grew hard beneath her, she turned and kissed him squarely on the mouth. Wilson hummed and kissed her back, his eyes slipping shut and his hands going to her hips.
Truthfully, Wilson had gone on several actual dates with Karamel—real name Kara—soon after his third divorce. Even so, she was showing him quite a bit of favoritism at the party.
As she rolled her hips down against his lap and latched her lips to his neck, Wilson lolled his head to the side and opened his eyes. He found House across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter with a drink in his hand, watching Wilson and Karamel. He kept his eyes on them even as Wilson caught him. He slowly brought the drink to his lips then set the cup on the counter before limping his way over to Wilson.
Without saying anything, House held a wad of cash out to Wilson. Wilson raised a curious eyebrow at him then took the cash. House nodded and walked off.
Wilson slipped the money into the band of Karamel’s lingerie, out of her line of sight. He didn’t want her seeing that it was several hundred-dollar bills for fear that she would think that he saw her as a prostitute.
“I heard you slipped House some tongue at the party,” Cuddy said, without looking up from her paperwork, when Wilson walked into her office Monday morning.
Wilson put his hands on his hips. “House almost killed Chase with strawberry body butter, and that’s what you say to me?”
Cuddy lifted her gaze and surveyed him, one eyebrow raised. “So, was it good? Did he sleep over?”
With a sigh, Wilson dropped a folder on Cuddy’s desk and petulantly stomped his way out of her office.
Later in the day, Wilson was walking down the hallway toward his office, distractedly looking through a patient file, when the sound of a cane knocking on glass pulled his attention. He looked over to find House and his team in the outer office, sitting at the table. House leaned far over in his chair and used the hook of his cane to open the door a crack.
“Drinks tonight?” he asked loudly.
Wilson raised his arms up in an indignant shrug, feeling both annoyed and embarrassed. “Thank you for interrupting my incredibly busy schedule to ask me something that could’ve been a text.”
House blinked at him. “So is that a yes?”
Wilson rolled his eyes and nodded as he walked away.
Through the glass, he could hear House’s team (Thirteen and Kutner) say, “Oo-OO-oh, Wilson’s got a date.”
Later, as they left work together, Wilson asked House, “How come they only make fun of me? Why is no one making fun of you?”
“Because I don’t care,” House answered easily. “Making fun of me isn’t fun.”
“I have plenty of fun making fun of you.”
“Yeah, you know a few of my buttons. They don’t.”
Wilson wrongly assumed “drinks after work” meant going out to a bar, but instead they just went to House’s apartment and drank beer on the couch.
After beer number two, House took their empties to the trash and then returned to the living room and said, “Will you do shrooms with me?”
“What?”
House held up a small bag and shook it excitedly.
“Come on, don’t be a square,” House said. “Do drugs with me.”
“Aren’t you on enough drugs already?” Wilson asked judgmentally.
House plopped down next to him on the couch, extending his right leg out to prop on the coffee table. He opened the small bag and pulled out a gummy. “Haven’t had any Vicodin in 12 hours.”
“Oh, so you’ve been planning this?”
“You betcha.”
Wilson took the proffered gummy, holding it delicately between his thumb and index finger like he didn’t know what to do with it. He hadn’t done shrooms since med school, but he remembered it being a pleasurable experience.
House held his own gummy between his fingers and tapped his hand to Wilson’s, saying, “Cheers,” before tossing it into his mouth.
Wilson followed suit.
Thirty minutes later, Wilson was lying upside down on House’s couch, his legs up the back of the couch and his head hanging off the end toward the floor. House played the piano, and Wilson could taste the music.
After a few minutes or a few hours, the music stopped and House’s legs and cane came into Wilson’s line of view.
“Sit up, freak,” House said, reaching a hand out.
Wilson took his hand and hauled himself up, turning his legs and torso until he was upright on the couch. He sighed loudly and dropped his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes.
“Wilson,” House said quietly, sitting very close to him.
“Hmm?” Wilson asked, lifting and turning his head.
House’s hand was on his neck for some reason. Wilson went with it, letting House pull him forward. Wilson put his hand on House’s good thigh for stability and let House’s mouth find his.
They kissed like they argued, passionately and loudly. Wilson barely remembered to breathe, focused only on keeping up with the quick movements of House’s lips and tongue. He rolled his chest forward, closer to House, and put his hand on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his coarse hair, forcing him to stay close.
After a few minutes, they broke away and breathed heavily, their faces just a couple inches apart. At the same time, they started laughing.
Wilson dropped his head, knocking his forehead against House’s. He felt light, giddy, out of his mind and outside of his body.
“What are we doing?” Wilson asked through his laughter.
“I don’t know,” House answered, also laughing. He scratched the nape of Wilson’s neck and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Feels good, though.”
“Feels really good. It’s weird.”
House shrugged and kissed him again, moving slower. When he pulled away again, he said, “We’re high. Everything feels good.”
Wilson ducked his head to nose at House’s jaw, mumbling against his skin, “Felt good when we were drunk, too.”
“Hm. True.”
Both of them shut up in favor of making out some more. Eventually, Wilson pushed House back flat on the couch and slotted their bodies together. They were both hard, so Wilson rolled his hips down against House and pulled a loud groan out of him. They kissed and kept kissing until Wilson felt so horny he couldn’t think.
“Fuck,” he said, forcing himself away from House. “Fuck. Excuse me.”
He left the room, stumbling his way to the bathroom so he could jerk off. He came so fast he saw stars, then he gripped the sink to avoid losing his balance. He caught his breath and tried to compose himself, which was difficult when he felt like the room was spinning and his feet were floating off the floor.
When he got back to the living room, House was gone. Wilson pulled out linens from a closet and set up a bed on the couch, knowing there was no chance of him driving home. As he settled into sleep, he heard House’s bedroom door open, and House go into the bathroom.
Wilson stared up at the ceiling for a long time.
For three days, Wilson and House skirted around each other and mutually avoided each other.
Then, on Thursday House’s team solved their case and Thirteen invited Wilson out to a bar.
What she didn’t tell Wilson was that she also invited House and the rest of his team plus Chase and Cameron, and that the bar had karaoke.
Chase and Cameron left after Chase did an alarming performance of a Lady Gaga song, both of them stating that they had an early morning and couldn’t stay out late getting drunk.
If Wilson was a reasonable person, he would have left when they left. Unfortunately, he had taken shots like an idiot and was too drunk to do anything but sign up for karaoke.
He made House come up onstage with him to sing the “turn around” portion of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” They completely botched it.
After, House announced that he needed another drink and limped over to the bar, squeezing between people waiting to be served.
Wilson talked to Thirteen for about five minutes before Wilson felt like eyes were on him. He turned and found House still standing against the bar, but his head was turned to stare at Wilson.
So Wilson got up and joined House at the bar, their arms pressed against each other to fit.
“I don’t think they serve cripples,” House said.
Before Wilson could answer, a bartender appeared and asked what he wanted. On a whim, he ordered two shots and two beers.
“See, I told you they don’t serve cripples,” House muttered while they waited for their drinks.
They clinked their shot glasses together then tapped them on the bar before knocking them back. They winced in unison then laughed as they picked up their beers. Once again, they clinked them together.
“I’m pretty drunk,” House announced before taking a long pull from his beer.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Split a cab?”
“Yeah.”
They finished their beer and told the group they were leaving, and nobody decided to join them.
While they waited for their cab, House asked, “How drunk are you?”
Wilson made a so-so gesture with his hand and said, “Fairly.”
House hummed in approval and closed the distance between them, kissing Wilson hard. Wilson melted at his touch, heart dropping to his stomach in excitement. He put his hands to House’s hips and shoved him back toward a brick wall, out of the line of the streetlights. House stumbled and nearly dropped his cane yet managed to keep his tongue in Wilson’s mouth.
With the wall supporting them, Wilson pressed closer to House, slotted his leg against House’s crotch, and squeezed his hips in his hands. It felt so good, so insanely good, better than any sex Wilson had ever had, and they weren’t even having sex.
Between their mouths, Wilson mumbled, “Why does this feel so good?”
House grunted, obviously incapable of higher thought process, and then said, “We need more data. Come home with me.”
Wilson nodded stupidly.
When the cab arrived, they cleared their throats and wiped their mouths, adjusted their slacks and shamefully climbed into the back of the car. They said nothing to each other on the ride over to House’s place.
With the haze of drunkenness dissipating, they continued saying nothing to each other as they walked into House’s apartment. House went to the closet and pulled out the linens, tossed them at Wilson, and limped back to his bedroom.
Wilson set up the couch and slept fitfully.
They didn’t talk about it.
Wilson thought about it, constantly, all day every day.
But they didn’t talk about it.
They got back into their regular routine, House barging into Wilson’s office every once in a while to bother him, eating lunch together in the cafeteria, playing video games on House’s couch at night. Nothing happened.
Then, on a Saturday night, they went to a bar together and had a little too much to drink.
Once again, they took a cab back to House’s place and stumbled their way inside, laughing in their drunken state. As soon as the door shut behind them, Wilson gently pushed House against it and kissed him softly.
They moved their mouths in a slow rhythm, enjoying each other.
They made it back to the bedroom this time, barely breaking apart as they fell onto the sheets. While eager in their exploration of each other’s mouths, they were both hesitant to go any further. After several long minutes, they stripped to their boxers and got under the covers together.
And then.
Wilson moved his mouth down House’s neck, his chest, stomach, left thigh, and then—
He fell asleep.
In the morning, Wilson woke alone in bed. It took him a second to orient himself to where he was, wondering why he could smell House’s distinctive musk all around him. He had a headache which worsened when he heard the sound of a coffee grinder.
“House!” Wilson shouted angrily. “What the fuck?”
“Just making coffee, snookums!”
Wilson groaned and buried his head under some pillows. While he usually woke up a lot earlier than House, House was better at handling his hangovers. About five minutes passed before Wilson heard House’s unmistakable gait come down the hall and stop at the bedroom door.
“Do you think it’s as good sober?” House asked.
Wilson raised his head up, blinking blearily at his friend. “What?”
House blinked back at him. “Nothing. Coffee’s on. I don’t have any food here.”
“We didn’t, uh…” Wilson asked, pretty sure but not entirely sure of the answer.
“No. Your cherry is still intact, don’t worry.”
Wilson dropped his head back against the bed and put a hand over his face, embarrassed. He wasn’t thinking about what he and House were doing, not really. Well, he thought about it all the time, but he didn’t think about it.
Nothing had really changed between them. They were still the same as they had always been.
The next time House and Wilson kissed, they had each only had one finger of scotch at House’s place.
They were sitting on the couch together, arguing about a case House was working on, when House put a hand to Wilson’s knee and squeezed it.
Whatever argument Wilson had died in his throat. He looked down at House’s hand and swallowed.
House, too, looked down at his own hand and quickly removed it, clearing his throat.
They looked at each other for several long seconds.
They moved simultaneously toward the middle of the couch, meeting together in a frenzy. House immediately licked his way into Wilson’s mouth, moving his tongue around in a rhythm like he was trying to memorize the taste of him.
Neither of them was drunk, not high. At least, not any higher than House’s regular Vicodin high.
House held tightly to the back of Wilson’s head, forcing him closer. Wilson made an embarrassing whining sound and yanked House forward, lying back on the couch so that House had to fall on top of him.
They made out like horny teenagers, interminably, until Wilson’s lips and cheeks were chafed from House’s stubble, and then they kept kissing.
“Come to bed with me,” House said in a low, commanding voice.
And Wilson snapped out of it. He pushed House away and said, “Fuck. I should—yeah, I should go.”
House didn’t even argue or try to stop him. He just sighed as he sat up, wiping his hand over his mouth as he watched Wilson gather himself and leave.
Then it happened again.
And again.
Every day after work for a week straight.
One of the patients House saved from the brink of death gave him cigars as a gift. House came to Wilson’s office late in the evening and sat down on his couch. Without saying anything, he lit one of the cigars and blew smoke up toward the ceiling.
“Really?” Wilson asked from his desk, annoyed.
House held the cigar out to him.
Wilson considered it for all of seven seconds before joining House on the couch. They both propped their feet up on the coffee table and handed the cigar back and forth for several puffs.
“I have a second one, but this is more fun, isn’t it?” House asked as he handed the cigar over to Wilson.
Petulantly, Wilson took a long puff and then circled his tongue around the end, really wetting it before handing it back over to House.
House stared at him and slowly took the cigar back. Then, House put his hand to Wilson’s cheek and leaned forward for a slow, easy kiss. The cigar was between House’s index and middle fingers, the wet end pressed up against Wilson’s face.
Slowly, Wilson deepened the kiss and fisted his hand in the lapel of House’s blazer. They kissed languidly, like they had all the time in the world to do only this.
Then, there was the sound of distant laughter in the hallway and voices filtering out toward the elevator to go home for the night, and Wilson jumped away from House, clearing his throat as he remembered where he was.
“Sorry,” House said sheepishly.
“No, you’re not,” Wilson replied, and took the cigar out of House’s hand.
On a Saturday night, Wilson showed up at House’s place and let himself inside. House wasn’t in the living room, so Wilson called, “House?”
“Back here!” House shouted from his bedroom.
Wilson suddenly had a sick feeling in his gut, but he went back to House’s bedroom anyway.
The door was cracked, and there were soft, breathy movements happening inside. Heart pounding, Wilson opened the door and found House lying on the bed, naked, with a curvy woman straddling his lap, riding him.
Wilson swallowed.
The woman turned her head, her profile to Wilson. She said, “Sit, sweetheart.”
Not one to be told twice, Wilson sat down in the chair conveniently positioned at the end of the bed.
Wilson watched, enraptured, for several minutes as the woman and House moved in rhythm together. The woman had big thighs and a fat ass, but even so, when she raised up in House’s lap, Wilson could see the veiny underside of House’s cock pushing into her, his balls heavy beneath her. He split her open, the girth of him surprising.
“Give him another direction, Jewel,” House said gruffly, his fingers digging into the soft, brown flesh of her hips.
“Touch yourself, James,” Jewel said.
Wilson quickly undid his fly and pushed his pants and boxers down toward his knees, not wanting any extra friction. He sloppily licked his left hand and wrapped his fingers around himself, then he moved his hand up and down in rhythm with House’s cock in Jewel’s cunt. When he was close, he sped up his movements and thrust up into the circle of his hand, rubbing his thumb over the tip and leaking precome onto himself.
“Tell him to come,” House said in an even tone, as if he wasn’t fucking Jewel so hard that the headboard of the bed slammed into the wall.
Jewel turned her head again toward Wilson and said, “Come, James.”
Wilson gasped and stopped his hand and his hips as his orgasm took over his body. As he spurted come all over himself, House pulled out of Jewel and sat up in the bed, pulling his condom off and then jacking himself quick and dirty, eyes on Wilson even as he kissed Jewel. He broke away from her as he came, throwing his head back and spilling all over his hand.
Jewel kissed House’s cheek then got up from the bed and walked over to Wilson. Her breasts hung heavy against her chest, stretchmarks prominent near her areolas. She leaned over and kissed Wilson hard on the mouth, then patted his face patronizingly before leaving the room.
“Did you get to come?” Wilson stupidly called after her.
He heard her laugh in the hallway as House answered him, “She’s a professional, Wilson. She would’ve come if she wanted to.”
Wilson snapped his attention to House then and realized they were alone in the room together, House completely naked and Wilson halfway there. They looked at each other for several long seconds, staying focused only on each other’s faces.
What the hell are we doing? Should we talk about this? Why are we doing this? What does it mean?
The questions bounced around in Wilson’s post-orgasm haze as if he could telepathically communicate them to House.
But they just weren’t capable of having that conversation.
During lunch the next week, House and Wilson were sitting in the cafeteria in silence, House reading a magazine and Wilson with a medical journal, when House said,
“Jewel’s coming over tonight.”
Wilson forced himself not to look up as he replied, “What does that have to do with me?”
“Eight p.m.”
“Hm.”
“Just so you know.”
Of course Wilson went. He couldn’t wait for it, the hours dragging on at work as he counted down until he could be at House’s place.
This time, when he went into House’s room, House was fully clothed with his head buried between Jewel’s legs. She had her head thrown back in pleasure, but she lifted it to beckon Wilson in.
“Join us,” she said breathlessly.
Wilson quickly stripped naked and crawled up onto the bed. He waited for Jewel to reach for him before he dived in, putting his lips to her neck and a hand to her breast. He got lost in kissing her, enjoying her, until House’s familiar hand moved up his leg, gripping the side of his thigh.
Wilson reached down and twined his fingers with House’s as Jewel came.
While Jewel caught her breath, Wilson kissed a line down her neck and chest, until House interrupted him by forcefully grabbing his face and pulling him over to kiss him.
House shoved his tongue into Wilson’s mouth, pushing the taste of Jewel between his lips. They kissed for a long time, biting each other’s lips, Wilson tearing at House’s clothes. There were no higher thought processes, just base desires and instinct.
Jewel led them wordlessly, positioning herself between them on her hands and knees. Wilson ended up behind her, at the foot of the bed, and had just enough wherewithal to put on a condom before pushing into her. House was at the head of the bed, sitting up, and Jewel bent down and took him in her mouth. House and Wilson made eye contact over her and held it steadily while they moved together.
While fucking Jewel was nice, Wilson gripped her hips hard and couldn’t help but think how much nicer this would feel if House was closer to him, if there wasn’t a body between them, if it was House he was inside of, or his mouth around House’s cock.
House came first, his head throwing back and eyes closing as he jerked his hips up. Jewel sucked him down, and the sight of him in ecstasy sent Wilson over the edge, too. He barely managed to pull out of Jewel before coming all over her back.
It was quiet, the only sound their heavy breathing. Jewel moved first, gingerly getting up from the bed and heading toward the bathroom as she said, “Somehow I don’t think I’ll be needed here next time.”
The thought sent a thrill down Wilson’s spine. He surged forward on the bed and kissed House again, hard and fast, and House held the back of his head and matched his movements, his enthusiasm.
So Jewel left, and Wilson slept over, and in the morning he awoke to House’s mouth on his chest.
“What are you doing?” Wilson asked groggily, his hand finding purchase in House’s hair.
“Nothing,” House replied before circling his tongue around Wilson’s nipple.
“Mm. OK.”
Wilson relaxed as House slowly moved his mouth down his body, worshiping his skin. When he got to his morning wood, he hovered his head directly above Wilson’s crotch and made eye contact with him, silently asking a question.
Wilson took a deep breath and gave House a curt nod.
House wasted no time swallowing him down.
“Oh, god,” Wilson said on an exhale. “Fuck.”
House sucked him off the way he kissed him: desperate, fast, hard. He grew louder as Wilson got closer, groaning as his mouth moved up and down Wilson’s length. His hand wrapped around the base, pushed against his balls, lips meeting fingers on the way down, spit coating everything. Wilson bucked his hips up, forcing House to take him deeper, and House held on, sucking harder, hollowing his cheeks out, circling his tongue around the tip.
Wilson came with a shout, his hips pushed up, and House swallowed every drop from him, sucking him dry.
Breathing heavily, Wilson relaxed back against the sheets and put his hands over his face. He felt the press of House’s lips to his inner thigh, then House was gone.
They didn’t talk about it.
They got ready for work, drove in together, gossiped about their coworkers like they always did. Nothing amiss.
When Wilson fucked House for the first time, it was after they had had a few drinks and played video games well into the night on a weekend. Wilson became heated after losing to House several times in a row playing Street Fighter, and they resolved the dispute by sloppily making out on the couch.
When clothes started coming off, House said, “Bedroom. My leg can’t handle couch sex.”
Wilson’s brain short-circuited at the word sex as they had both somehow managed to avoid actually saying what they were doing, even though they had been building to this moment for a couple of months now.
House blinked like he realized what he had said, too, but then he kissed Wilson again before shoving him away and gently getting up from the couch.
Fucking House was better than Wilson could have ever imagined, and he had spent the majority of his waking hours and many of his sleeping hours imagining it lately. House was lazy in bed, liked being on the bottom, so they fucked in missionary position with Wilson holding House’s bad leg at an angle to avoid hurting it. He wanted to fuck House hard, ramming into him until House couldn’t take it anymore, and he didn’t want to feel guilty or worried about hurting him.
As he slammed repeatedly into his friend, Wilson belatedly realized that House had prepped for this. Opening him up hadn’t taken long at all, and he wasn’t showing any signs of pain. Of course, the Vicodin and booze could be helping, but even so, House took it up the ass as if he had spent time today cleaning and preparing his hole.
And then Wilson had the enraging thought that maybe House fucked men, maybe this wasn’t his first time doing this, and Wilson was suddenly furious that he was wearing a condom. House was his, wasn’t he? He needed to claim him.
Wilson pulled out, ripped the condom off, and lined up their cocks, wrapping his hand around both of them. He jerked them both off and quickly came all over House, over his cock and pelvis, near his bellybutton. House made a few beautiful noises and arched up into his hand, then he put his own hand over top of Wilson’s and pushed harder until he came, too.
They stayed together for a minute, saying nothing as their spend dried on their skin. Then, Wilson wordlessly got up to go to the bathroom.
House joined him in the bathroom a couple minutes later, limping without his cane. He turned the shower on and then snaked one arm around Wilson’s waist from behind, his fingers sifting through Wilson’s pubic hair.
He kissed Wilson’s shoulder and said, “Let’s keep doing this, alright?”
Wilson looked at himself and House in the mirror, nakedly tangled together. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed.
Wilson loved performing oral.
Sucking House’s dick was as pleasurable if not more so than any cunt he had eaten out, and so he made it a near daily habit to suck House off, whether before work or after.
The problem was, House loved performing oral, too, and often sucked Wilson off and then didn’t allow Wilson to return the favor. House seemingly preferred the occasional one-sided sex act, like he got some kind of pleasure from giving Wilson orgasms while he himself was still fully clothed, or coming down Wilson’s throat and then falling asleep, offering nothing in return.
Oftentimes, one of them would blow the other right there on the couch and then they would both return to whatever reality TV show they were watching or video game they were playing as if nothing had happened.
But other times, they were intimate with each other. They kissed languidly on the couch, then lay together, House usually half-on top of Wilson, Wilson rubbing House’s back while they watched TV.
For Wilson, these moments were the hardest not to say anything.
On his back on House’s couch, one arm behind his head as a pillow, the other arm sneaking up the hem of House’s t-shirt where House was lying prone against him, Wilson thought to himself that he had never felt this close, this intimate, with anyone in his entire life.
House loved watching Wilson jerk off.
Wilson could have surmised this fact after that first time when House invited him over to watch him fuck Jewel and told Jewel to tell Wilson to touch himself, but it was definitively confirmed when House asked Wilson to suck him off and then blue-balled him like he was wont to do.
It went like this: They were watching TV at House’s place, and House undid his fly without saying anything, then pulled his dick halfway out and started stroking it. He then made eye contact with Wilson and gestured his head toward his crotch, and Wilson was on his knees within seconds.
After House came down Wilson’s throat, he picked up the TV remote and flipped through channels, ignoring Wilson.
So Wilson, frustrated, went to the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Within a minute of jerking off under the spray, the curtain pulled back and House gingerly stepped into the shower with him. Wilson immediately stopped what he was doing and tried to reach for House instead, but House gently pushed him away and aimed Wilson’s hand back toward his erection.
“Just let me watch,” House whispered.
Hesitantly, Wilson wrapped his fingers around the length of his cock and swiped his thumb over the head. He took his time, leaning back against the tiles and closing his eyes as he worked himself up. He only looked at House when he was close, and what he found on House’s face was open desire, an intense need and concentration. Having just come down Wilson’s throat minutes before, House wasn’t hard, but his hand wandered down his own chest and toward his crotch, teasing himself.
“Aw, fuck,” Wilson said, everything tightening up as he got close. “Fuck, House.” He came onto his hand and House’s foot.
Before Wilson could even catch his breath, House was on him, grabbing him by the back of his neck, forcing their mouths together, lining their hips up so their over-sensitive dicks rubbed against each other. It was messy and vaguely unpleasant, and Wilson never wanted it to end. He felt slightly ashamed, and incredibly turned on, and sexy, and in a slight amount of pain. The confluence of contradictory feelings led him out of the shower and into House’s bed, where he spent the night.
They didn’t cuddle. Wilson lay on his back in bed, House curled onto his side facing him. They both wore boxers and nothing else.
“This is really nice, right?” House asked quietly.
“Mm,” Wilson agreed.
“Do you have to go into work early tomorrow?”
Wilson turned his head and made a face at House like he was an idiot. “By your standards, I go into work early every day.”
House rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’ll be gone by the time I get up. So, goodnight and goodbye.”
In a flash, House leaned over and pecked Wilson on the lips, then he rolled over to his other side.
Wilson stared at his back for a second and wiped a hand across his lips, feeling confused.
About a month into their new arrangement, House’s team invited them both out again for drinks.
Kutner kept buying rounds of shots for the table, so House and Wilson were properly hammered by the time the night was winding down.
While everyone was in their own pairs of conversations, House and Wilson made eye contact with each other, and House gestured his head in a “let’s get out of here” kind of way.
They said their goodbyes and then went outside together to wait for a cab, and as usual, Wilson guided House to a poorly lit section of wall and pressed their mouths together.
“Fuck, I’m drunk,” Wilson said, laughing against House’s mouth. “Been a while since we did this quite this drunk.”
“My place?” House asked simply, his hand teasing at Wilson’s hip.
“Yeah.”
They kissed again, soft and slow, not nearly as desperate as they had been just a month or so ago.
“Well, this is awkward,” Thirteen’s voice said from behind them.
Wilson suddenly felt very sober. He pushed away from House, cleared his throat, and wiped his mouth. House did none of those things and instead just put his cane in front of him and folded both hands over top of it, his eyes going to Thirteen.
She had a cigarette between her fingers and an amused look on her face. She said, “I knew you were purposely landing on Wilson during spin the bottle.”
Wilson had no idea what to say. Don’t tell anyone? It’s nothing? We only do this when we’re drunk?
None of it seemed right.
House said, “You can’t possibly be surprised by this.”
Thirteen took a long drag of her cigarette and answered, “No. Cheers, boys,” then she turned and walked away from them, flicking ash onto the ground.
Mortified, Wilson insisted that he go home alone.
House didn’t stop him.
Even if Wilson was capable of talking to House about whatever was going on between them or what happened with Thirteen, he didn’t get the chance.
House started hallucinating, and acting more reckless than usual, and checked himself into a psych ward and cut off communication for the entire six weeks he was there.
When he came back, he was clean. He looked healthy, clearer, more present.
The first time they hung out after House’s rehab, they spent the evening just talking. When Wilson couldn’t stand it anymore, he tried to make a move, tried to cross the distance between them and kiss House, but House shook his head and gently pushed him away.
Humiliated, Wilson went home.
House started dating Cuddy soon after rehab.
Wilson fought the urge to scream. He fought the urge to throw heavy objects in House’s direction.
House talked to him about his relationship with Cuddy as if they were friends, just regular bros, coming to Wilson for advice and complaints, and Wilson played his role with teeth gritted, fingernails digging into his palms.
Yes, House, I am happy for you that you finally shared your feelings with her and found them reciprocated. Yes, it is good that she feels comfortable introducing you to her daughter. No, you shouldn’t call Cuddy’s mom to get advice on what Cuddy likes. Maybe you should try actually talking to Cuddy about what she likes.
After three weeks of this, Wilson caved and asked House, “Can you give me Jewel’s phone number?”
House raised an eyebrow, obviously taken aback. “Since when do you have to pay for sex?”
“House, just give it to me.”
House of course complied, but not without a couple more jibes at Wilson about it. Wilson avoided eye contact and ignored the goading.
And when Jewel came to his house a few days later, she had the decency to not mention House at all to Wilson.
After a sleepless Sunday night, Wilson went to Cuddy’s office in the morning to drop off paperwork. He gave her a cursory greeting and tried to leave as quickly as possible.
“Hey, wait,” she said, stopping him at the door.
Wilson sighed quietly to himself and turned back around toward her, plastering a fake smile on his face.
“What’s up with you lately?” she asked from her desk.
“Nothing.”
“Well, I have an extra ticket to an art exhibit this weekend. I was hoping you’d join me.”
Wilson crossed his arms over his chest. “You couldn’t convince House to go with you, could you?”
“Of course not. To be fair, I barely even tried. So, will you go?”
“No, I don’t think so. Sorry.”
He tried to leave again, but she said, “Wait. Why? You and I used to hang out, if I recall correctly.”
“I need to get to work, Lisa.”
She frowned at him and nodded. “OK. I’ll see you.”
Later, House barged into Wilson’s office and said, “Go to the stupid art show with Cuddy, please.”
“Oh, I get a ‘please’? You must be desperate,” Wilson replied.
“Pretty please?”
Wilson looked down at his paperwork and began writing away, ignoring House.
After a minute, House laid his cane on the edge of Wilson’s desk and swiped it across the surface, knocking everything to the floor.
Wilson scooted back in his desk chair and threw his hands in the air. “What the fuck, House?!”
“Whatever’s going on with you, don’t take it out on Cuddy,” House said meanly. “She didn’t do this to you. I did.”
As House left his office, Wilson stood from his chair, furious, and picked up a stapler from the floor. He chucked it at House’s back, missing by an inch, and shouted, “I fucking hate you!”
House ignored him.
He went to the art exhibit with Cuddy. It was actually pretty nice.
Wilson was eating lunch alone in the cafeteria one day when Thirteen sat down across from him.
He looked up from his newspaper and arched an eyebrow at her, then immediately looked back down at the paper.
“So,” she started. “If you and House broke up, why do you still hang out with him?”
Wilson kept his eyes down, even though he definitely wasn’t reading anymore. “We weren’t together.”
“Hm. Interesting.”
Wilson said nothing.
“You’ve looked ready to put a gun to your head since the day House and Cuddy started going out, so that’s…you know, interesting,” Thirteen said.
He finally looked up at her again. “Excuse me for being disappointed that I’m not having the best sex of my life anymore.”
Thirteen’s eyes widened, then she pressed her lips together and nodded, composing herself. “Have you told him that?”
“No, of course not.”
“Hm. Interesting.”
Wilson sighed. “Can you get to the point, Remy?”
She shrugged. “No, I don’t have a point. It’s just interesting, that’s all.”
After a beat of silence, Thirteen got up to leave. She then immediately sat back down and said, “Actually, you know what I just thought about.”
Wilson closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You didn’t look suicidal when House was gone. That didn’t happen until he started dating Cuddy. It’s interesting, because you presumably weren’t having the best sex of your life for the six weeks he was gone, either. So, what changed? The realization that you would likely never have it again, or something else?” Thirteen got back up and continued, “Anyway, have fun figuring that out.”
House and Wilson went out for dinner and drinks after work one night, then House came back to Wilson’s condo with him. As Wilson put the leftovers in the fridge, House passed behind him and pressed a hand to the nape of his neck, a light touch to say, “hey, I’m back here, don’t back up and run me over.”
The hand was gone as soon as it had come. Wilson turned his head, wide-eyed, but House wasn’t looking in his direction.
They watched TV, drank beer. They talked some, intermittently.
Around 10 p.m., House’s phone rang. When he answered, it was obvious by the smile on his face and the tenderness in his voice that he was talking to Cuddy.
When he hung up, neither of them said anything for a minute.
Eyes still on the TV, Wilson eventually asked, “Do you love her?”
House huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”
Wilson nodded, eyes on TV. He could feel that House was looking at him, but he refused to look over.
He refused.
Another month passed. Wilson went out with a couple different women, got laid a couple of times, but he felt nothing.
One of the women was exactly his type and insanely beautiful, and he couldn’t even make himself care enough to remember her last name.
House had to scoot past Wilson in line in the cafeteria one day, and he put a hand to his hip and lightly squeezed him as he passed.
In the shower later, while he jerked off, Wilson let the water hit the exact spot on his hip where House’s hand had been, and he came so hard against the tiles that he shouted House’s name.
In the diagnostics office one morning, Wilson was making himself a cup of coffee when part of a hand pressed to the small of his back and House’s voice said, “‘Scuse me,” while reaching over his head into the cabinet.
The hand on Wilson’s back was also holding a cane, so House had just his knuckles pressed to Wilson’s back.
Wilson pushed away and shoved at House’s cane arm, angry. “Stop. Stop doing that.”
House looked at him then looked around the office, making sure they were alone. When he returned his attention to Wilson, he said, “What?”
“Touching me!” Wilson whisper-shouted. “Stop fucking touching me.”
House squinted at him. “You really need to get laid, Wilson.”
Wilson clenched his jaw and took a deep breath in through his nose. “Get out of my way.”
They stared at each other for several tense seconds before House conceded and stepped out of Wilson’s way so Wilson could get his coffee and leave.
When he got back to his own office, Wilson decided he was done.
He couldn’t deal with House anymore. He would stop hanging out with him, stop being friends with him, maybe even find a new job and turn in his resignation to Cuddy.
Four days into Wilson’s plan of ditching House, House showed up at his condo after work.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?” House asked rather sheepishly as he leaned against Wilson’s doorframe, his shoulders hunched and his free hand in the pocket of his coat.
Wilson tried to shut the door in his face; House caught it with his cane and pushed it open, letting himself inside.
“Are you really that mad about it?” House asked, raising his voice. “You’re going to ignore me just because I won’t suck your dick anymore?”
Wilson slammed his hands against the kitchen counter then rounded on House, pointing a finger in his face as he stepped up close to him. “Oh, now you want to talk about it? Now that you have an opportunity to throw it in my face? You fucking coward.”
“I tried to talk to you about it! Several times! You ignored me every goddamn time!”
“Oh, right, sure you did. In between blowjobs and video games, you really wanted to have a serious talk about our relationship.”
House got closer to him, bending forward and leaning on his cane so they were eye-level. “This is what you wanted! You sure acted embarrassed enough when Thirteen caught us, so I figured I’d save you the shame and get back to our regularly scheduled programing.”
Wilson laughed derisively, shaking his head. “Oh, that is rich. You never asked me what I fucking wanted! How the hell would you know? Don’t pretend like this is about anything other than you and your fucking ego.”
“Oh yeah, how’s that? Please, enlighten me,” House said meanly.
Wilson was so mad he couldn’t see straight. He swiped his hand across a lamp sitting on the end table in his living room, satisfied when he heard it smash to the floor. “You would only fuck me when you were high! Or drunk, or both! Cuddy was always your prize, your reward for being sober. So what does that make me?” He picked up the broken lampshade from the floor and chucked it at House’s head, missing only because House ducked. “Your punishment! I’m your fucking punishment!”
“Well, you didn’t want me either!” House responded, yelling even louder than Wilson. “Always needing an excuse for doing what we were doing, jumping at the word ‘sex’ like it was some disgusting sin. How was I supposed to feel? Having mind-blowing sex then being brushed off like it didn’t fucking matter, like you were so ashamed? What did you want me to fucking do?”
Wilson blinked at him. “I am ashamed! Do you even know me? I’m ashamed of everything. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want you, for fuck’s sake, House.”
House shook his head in disbelief. “You didn’t want me. Don’t lie to me.”
“I did! I do. God—” Wilson cut himself off and ran his hands through his hair, then raised both hands up in indignation and looked down at the floor, eyes wide. “All I do is want you, constantly, all the fucking time! You’ve completely ruined my life, you bastard.”
House stepped even closer. “Really? And I’m the coward?” With his free hand, he shoved Wilson’s shoulder hard enough to throw him slightly off balance. “Why didn’t you fight for me, hm? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Wilson shoved a finger into his chest, poking him hard. “Why didn’t you?”
House clenched his jaw and grabbed Wilson’s hand, hard, and didn’t let go as he stepped forward.
“What the hell are you doing?” Wilson asked as he stumbled back, stepping over the broken lamp on the floor. “What the hell are you doing?” He tried to fight, but House was barreling him down.
Once Wilson was shoved back against the kitchen counter, House sealed their mouths together, grunting angrily into the kiss.
Wilson just barely stopped himself from whining as he reached for House’s face, clawing at his skin and hair, desperate for him to be closer. He pushed his tongue into House’s mouth and relearned the taste of him, licking everywhere he could reach.
House put his hands on Wilson’s hips and moved his mouth to his neck, sucking on his skin. Then, in an instant, House growled in frustration and broke away, pushing off of Wilson and fumbling with his cane as he headed toward the door.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Wilson called after him, stunned and stuck in place against the counter.
House said nothing. He slammed the door behind him on his way out.
At work, Wilson spotted House and Cuddy outside of Cuddy’s office, and he surreptitiously watched them as they had what looked like a heated argument. When it was over, though, Cuddy reached out and squeezed House’s hand, a subtle and comforting gesture.
Wilson avoided both of them for two entire days.
On the third day, House showed up at Wilson’s office around 10 in the morning and sat across from him at the desk. He rolled his cane between his hands and waited for Wilson to look up from his paperwork before he spoke.
“I broke up with Cuddy,” House said.
Wilson’s heart dropped. “What does that have to do with me?”
House sighed, rolled his eyes and laboriously got back to his feet. While he didn’t quite slam the door on his way out, he shut it pretty forcefully.
That same day, around 11 o’clock at night, there was an all-too-familiar knock on Wilson’s door.
When he opened it, House barreled past him and stood in the middle of the living room, looming large as he leaned against his cane.
“I actually broke up with her over a week ago, not that you would ever ask,” he said bitchily. “I was going to be a gentleman and wait an appropriate 30 or so days before…moving on, but you and your fucking—” He cut himself off, making a noise of frustration and balling his free hand into a fist near his face before dropping it back down to his side, whacking himself against his good thigh. “Your fucking rage, and your cold shoulder, and your ridiculous, repressed, shameful—”
“Is this speech supposed to make me warm up to you?” Wilson asked, imbuing his voice with forced nonchalance.
“She was really good for me, and I broke up with her because she’s not you. You drive me completely fucking insane, and I can’t stop fucking thinking about you and how much I despise you, so yeah, you are my punishment. There. Happy?”
“No,” Wilson said. “What changed?”
House made a valiant effort of hiding the truth before wincing as he said, “The best sex of your life?”
Wilson narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m going to kill Thirteen.”
House made a move toward Wilson, closing the distance between them with intent in his eyes. As he got into Wilson’s personal space, Wilson put a hand to his chest to stop him.
“You’ve been really cruel to me,” Wilson said.
House scoffed. “You’ve been throwing objects at my head every chance you get.”
“Yeah, because you’ve been cruel to me!”
“Hi, my name’s House, nice to meet you.”
Wilson shoved him away and walked out of the living room.
“Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?” House called after him.
Wilson started taking his shirt off as he walked down the hall. “Are you coming or what?”
Vaguely, Wilson heard House bang into something then curse, apparently in his eagerness to quickly follow Wilson back to the bedroom.
When they fucked, it was the same as ever. Nothing changed.
A week later, there was a knock on House’s door while House was busy in the bathroom after Wilson fucked him just on the right side of too hard. Wilson went to the door, yawning and scratching his bedhead before opening it.
“Oh,” he said, eyes widening. “Hey, Lisa.”
Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him and looked him up and down. Wilson was wearing one of House’s ratty band shirts and a pair of House’s boxers, and he surely smelled like a person who had just had sex with House.
“I’m just returning these things he left at my house,” she said, handing over a cardboard box.
Wilson took the box in both hands and said, “Um, thanks.”
House came out of the bathroom then, cane in hand and wearing only a bathrobe. His limp was more pronounced than usual.
“Ah, thank you,” House said, taking the box from Wilson and putting it in the living room. “I haven’t been able to brush my teeth in weeks.”
“So, what? You two are gay now?” Cuddy asked. “That sure was fast, House, I couldn’t have been that bad of a lay.”
House limped over to the door and put his free hand on the small of Wilson’s back as he said, “Cuddy, from the bottom of my heart, you were the second best lay of my life.”
“And we’re not gay,” Wilson said, sounding apologetic about it for some reason.
“Right, every straight guy has anal sex with his best friend,” Cuddy retorted.
“We have other kinds of sex, too,” House said.
Wilson sighed and put a hand to his face, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cuddy.”
She huffed a laugh. “No, you’re not.”
“No, we’re not,” House replied, reaching for the door. “Thanks, Cuddy. Goodbye.” He shut the door in her face as she waved at them both.
They were quiet for a minute. House went over to his box and started sorting through it, pulling stuff out. Wilson watched him, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What are we doing, though?” Wilson asked. “Are we gay?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“OK, are we together?”
“Of course.”
Wilson blinked at him. House blinked back at him.
“Just like that?” Wilson asked.
“Yeah, just like that.”
“Hm.” Wilson looked off into space, thinking. “Yeah, we could’ve had this conversation sooner.”