Chapter Text
•••
“First time sex isn’t supposed to be that good,” House says eventually, once they’ve caught their breaths and Wilson has arranged himself more comfortably against House’s chest.
“Yeah, well.”
House considers. “Old people sex isn’t supposed to be that good.” He’s pleasantly sore where Wilson's worked him open, made a space for himself.
“Yeah, well.”
Wilson is pressing soft, indulgent kisses to House’s chest and House closes his eyes and lets himself just feel their touch, listens to the quiet wet sounds they make.
"Time to cash in on that promised post-coital honesty and receptivity," Wilson tells him after a while.
House groans, but gives Wilson's shoulder a squeeze to convey his acquiescence.
“I knew it was about this,” Wilson starts softly, “that day in the kitchen. When you touched me. Right here.” He brings one of House’s hands up to guide his fingers along his waist. House lays his palm there even when Wilson lets go. “I figured at first you were trying to decide how to initiate, or something.”
House squeezes the pillowy flesh at Wilson’s waist gently and waits for him to continue.
“That didn’t make complete sense to me because you’ve never been delicate or shy about anything. But I couldn’t imagine what else would be going on.” Wilson’s hand is stroking up and down House’s flank. “It started to come to me when you apologized for kicking me out of your apartment after Julie. You said—it wasn’t really for the reasons you told me at the time but you wouldn’t say what the real reasons were. I think at that point I had a clue but it seemed so absurd. You’ve never been subtle about this, House. I’ve never been subtle.”
You’ve never been subtle about this, House.
Wilson kisses his chest again. “How could you look at me the way you do, say the things you do, act the way you do, love me the way you do? And not fucking know? How does that work?”
House swallows and brings his hand up to Wilson’s shoulder.
“I think I forgot that for a genius, you’re kind of an idiot. Anyway, I figured it all out when you tried to move out. Which is why I wore the green tie.”
House snaps his head over and down to peer at Wilson incredulously. “You what?”
Wilson laughs, eyes crinkling as he looks up at House from his place on House’s chest. “Well, I tried the shirt first. And the buttons. The idea was to make you more horny than you were anxious. I think I just made you so horny you just got more anxious. The theory was still that you only needed a little push.”
House’s mind is whirring. “You manipulative—”
“Bitch, I know. But that was before I realized that you were actually having an existential crisis. I figured it had something to do with Nolan, eventually. That meant it had to be more serious than I first thought. You looked so spooked every time I got near you and then you tried to fucking leave. I have never seen you so irrational and I’ve seen you at your most insane.”
House pinches him, which just makes Wilson wriggle closer. House moves his head to press his nose at the hair at Wilson’s temple and breathe in the sweaty scent. Wilson hums contentedly.
“The leaving hurt at first. I briefly thought about giving up, letting go. Then I simply refused to accept, because what bullshit, right? Anyway. The green tie really seems to bother you. I thought it’d been pretty fucking clear I wasn’t seeing anyone right now—I spend every minute with you, dumbass—so I figured you and your brilliant mind could do the math and figure I was wearing it for you. But I don’t think it ever really occurred to you that this was mutual. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.”
House opens his mouth and Wilson speaks up again.
“By the way, I’ve never worn anything special for anyone. You just like to fetishize me.”
“I do not—”
“You do,” Wilson says, matter of fact. “Frequently. Every time you pretend to insult my appearance, your pupils dilate and your respiratory rate increases. Days when you’re fixated on analyzing what I’m wearing or where I’m going or what I’m eating, you use any excuse to get into my personal space, and you sniff me, you animal. It’s really obscene for the workplace.”
House is used to Wilson explaining House to himself but this is uncomfortably pointed and House can’t even counter properly. “It sounds like you’re pretty obsessed with me,” he attempts weakly, “if you’re noticing all that.”
“Yes. I am.”
He says it so easily, so firmly. An open fact, not a hushed confession. “Wilson.” House moves close until Wilson gets the hint and tilts his chin up, then gives him a kiss, slow and relatively chaste, just a soft brush of their tongues.
“If you were so sure I was aware all along,” House says when they break apart, “explain to me the wives. The girlfriends. The doing nothing. The twenty years gone by.”
Wilson shrugs a shoulder. “I figured we were just waiting. It had to happen eventually and I was mostly content to bide my time until then.”
“Mostly?”
“Marriages when I started to doubt. Divorces when I stopped doubting, or stopped being able to pretend. Girlfriends when I was bored. Or jealous. Or wanted your attention. Obviously there were times all the emotions got all mixed up but I suppose that's to be expected when you take this long to catch up.”
House processes. “So. You—got into relationships with women solely motivated by your feelings for me. Wilson, that’s awful. I mean, that’s positively cruel.” He’s smiling wide.
“When you put it that way,” Wilson says, a pout in his voice. “Besides, I liked most of them well enough.” He winces as soon as he finishes saying it.
“What would have happened if I hadn’t had my breakdown?” House wonders aloud.
Wilson snorts. “You would have. You can wave your repression flag all you want but I know there were moments it broke through. It was literally a matter of time before you got there.”
House thinks back to those showers, the random impulses, the instant mistrust and fear he felt when a new woman walked into Wilson’s life. “I suppose.”
Wilson shifts to hover over House. “I wouldn’t have let you get away, you cranky old man. Eventually I would have kissed some sense into you. I would have manipulated you into domesticity. I would have tricked you into sharing a bed. I would have done anything—”
House kisses him quiet and Wilson seems contented by that, making happy noises and brushing the backs of his fingers against House’s cheek. “You can’t go anywhere. You can’t leave,” House says into the kiss, alarmed by how involuntarily the words leave his mouth.
“I’ve never gone anywhere. I’ve never really left. Even before this. You think I’m gonna walk away now? Fuck you, you took over my life the moment you bailed me out of that jail. You’re the one who pushes.”
“Don’t let me push too far,” House says.
“I won’t,” Wilson promises.
“Didn’t you ever wish the waiting would stop?” House asks. “Didn’t you ever wish we’d done this sooner? When we were younger?”
“All the time.” The words are very soft and Wilson’s face darkens briefly for the first time with something like real hurt.
House rolls them over so Wilson is on his back and House is above him, hands cupping either side of Wilson’s face. He kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips. Wilson lets out a little breath and wraps his arms around House.
“Post coital is a good look on you,” Wilson says, sounding sly. “You were right. You’re practically human this way. I’ll have to utilize this more often.”
“The hell you will,” House says instantly.
“Oh, so you’re saying no to fucking as often as possible? I see.”
House rolls his eyes. “It’s oxytocin. Dopamine. Endorphins.”
“Which just make you feel good,” Wilson says happily. “They don’t make you a liar or a different person. No, you’re just fucked out. I fucked you into being sweet to me. Into talking about your feelings. I fucked the bastard out of you.”
“Mm, the way you sweet talk to me, Jimmy.”
It’s almost completely dark in the room now, and they haven’t eaten dinner but they’re both far too tired for that, even if it means they’re going to be famished by breakfast time in the morning. Wilson shoves a few tissues at House to clean up, and does the same for himself.
“Don’t you want to shower?” House says skeptically because House has never known Wilson to skip a shower in his life.
“I’m fine.” Wilson tugs his ridiculous fluffy duvet up around them, then fusses around with his pillows.
House narrows his eyes. “Are you sure? The sheer number of layers of fil—”
“House,” Wilson insists. “I’m fine right here.” He gives House a quick kiss, then lays down on his side.
House doesn’t need a written invitation. He presses himself up against Wilson, his chest to the warm skin of Wilson’s back, a possessive arm slung over his waist and his nose buried in the nape of his neck.
“See? You like to smell me,” Wilson mumbles sleepily.
“Projection is just as powerful as repression, Wilson.”
Wilson presses his hand into House’s on his belly. “Whatever you say, caveman.”
House falls asleep easier than he has at all since detoxing.
•••
The clock on Wilson’s nightstand reads 2:17 AM when House wakes groggily to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He scrubs a hand over his eyes and takes a sip from the water bottle Wilson keeps next to the clock then grins into the darkness of the room, flopping back down on the mattress.
The water shuts off and there’s some quiet rustling before Wilson comes back to the bed. In the low moonlight coming from the window, House can just make out the stripes of Wilson’s favorite linen pajama bottoms, his upper half still bare.
He laughs. “Couldn’t stand it, could you?”
“Shut up. Go back to sleep, asshole. And you’re putting the sheets in the laundry tomorrow.”
House cuddles right back up against him once Wilson is settled in bed. “I don’t see how that’s fair. This mess-making was a joint effort, if I recall.”
Wilson shrugs a shoulder. “I didn’t say anything about being fair.” He makes a happy noise when House brushes the back of his fingers lightly from his clavicle to navel.
“Tyrant,” House accuses, pushing his nose once more into the now damp nape of Wilson’s neck.
He’s just started to fall asleep when Wilson speaks again. “House.”
“Trying to sleep.”
“House,” Wilson insists. “Don’t make fun of me. Could you say it just once? I know you don’t like to say it, and probably won’t say it again. And I don’t want you to say it again. It would be weird. I would think something was wrong with you, actually. But just once. Can you—say it?”
House blinks his eyes open and tightens his arm around Wilson’s waist, moves to press his face into the crook of Wilson’s shoulder and neck. He can feel Wilson practically holding his breath. He shuts his eyes again. “I’m in love with you.”
Wilson lets out a shuddery, loud breath, and relaxes entirely against House, practically boneless. When he returns the sentiment, it’s just a whisper. House can feel the contentment radiating from him.
Falling back asleep is just as easy as the first time.
•••
Wilson wakes House up a half hour early in the morning to present House with two Tylenol, a heating pad for his leg, and a hot mug of tea.
“You’re taking a shower, too,” Wilson directs, glaring at him as if House might oppose, before bustling out of the room to feed Limmy.
Fortunately for Wilson, even House is vaguely disgusted by how various body fluids and lubricant have congealed on his body in the night, so once his leg has mostly finished tantruming, he limps his way over to the bathroom for a perfunctory shower.
“You could have let me sleep at least another fifteen minutes,” House complains as he makes his way into the kitchen, dressed and disgruntled.
“I can never predict how long it’s going to take you to bitch and whine your way awake,” Wilson says carelessly, now pouring himself some coffee.
House considers making the French waffles again but they’re out of heavy whipping cream and it would mean a lot of dishes left in the sink when they have to rush out the door in a bit, so he settles for omelettes. Wilson very kindly assists, so earnestly House mocks him a bit for it.
“My license is probably going to come in today,” House says conversationally as they settle in at the counter to eat.
“Foreman’s going to love that.”
House snorts. “He’s going to find some insufferable way to make his feelings known for oh, the next three weeks before he remembers he enjoys his job under me just fine.”
Wilson frowns, chewing slowly. “Go easy on him.”
“What, so he can think if he wheedles enough I’ll step down? So he can waste time trying to mark territory he doesn’t have? I don’t think so.”
“House,” Wilson sighs. “Just try to be nice enough that he doesn’t do something drastic like quit.”
“He’s never going to quit. It’s Foreman. He’s attached,” House retorts, and neither of them push the issue, because they both know House is going to attempt at least slightly to follow Wilson’s advice.
“Speaking of coworkers,” Wilson starts as they clatter their plates into the sink.
“Is there any need to tell them?” House asks, leaning heavily on his cane as Limmy winds between his legs, clearly hoping for food scraps that aren’t to be had.
Wilson crosses his arms, brows creased slightly as if he’s thinking a complicated issue through. “Need? No. Alright, let me ask this way. Do you have anything against them knowing?”
“Not on principle,” House says carefully. “What would we tell them? It’s not like dating, or anything so—plebeian. We’re—” He gestures vaguely between them, trying to convey in this for life without saying it aloud.
Wilson gives him the softest, most understanding smile and House ducks his chin to stare at the kitchen tile. “You worry about them not taking it seriously? House.”
House sighs, taps his cane. “Wilson, I honestly could care less what my those morons think. Really. The act of telling them seems—performative. But it’s not about hiding anything.”
“Okay.”
House peers up at him. “Okay?”
Wilson shrugs. “I’ve never enjoyed advertising relationships. You know that. It also isn’t about hiding anything. So we’ll just go along until it gets found out or we have to tell someone, okay?”
House gives a nod. “Right.”
It isn’t like it’ll be difficult to keep it private. There isn’t much of a change here besides sex and bed sharing. Kisses when he wants them. The assurance that he gets Wilson to himself.
On the way out, Wilson nags at House again. “Please be civil to Foreman, House. Show him you care however you can. Remember last time you couldn’t do that? He left.”
“And then he came back,” House says shortly, as they approach Wilson’s car.
Wilson continues to try to lecture him the entire time to the hospital and House responds with increasingly elaborate insults. Really, not much has changed at all.
•••
House gives them away four days in.
It’s technically Wilson’s fault, and he’ll stand by that. He pages Wilson as he and the team are brainstorming their latest case. Wilson pops his head in minutes later, a coffee in hand. “Did you need me for a consult?”
His hair is less carefully styled than usual—because House stalled them this morning by sucking Wilson off when they woke up—and it’s falling very prettily across his forehead.
“No,” House says. “I just know it’s time for your coffee run and I needed caffeine.” He points to the paper cup in Wilson’s hand, Wilson’s usual overly detailed order scrawled onto the side.
Wilson purses his lips, seconds away from an eye roll.
“I’m serious,” House says, affecting his voice to saccharine pleading. “This patient might die if I’m not at my most alert and wouldn’t you just feel terrible then?”
Chase laughs at that but the others are busy debating the implications of the patient’s spontaneous pneumothorax.
Wilson glares moodily and slinks over to House’s side to hand House the coffee. House sips at it happily, and Wilson leans into to peer at the medical records House has in front of him.
“That’s interesting,” he mutters, reaching out to point at a line of blood work results. His shirt sleeve is rolled up over his forearm.
“I know,” House says eagerly. “I’ve only seen a result that high three times in my entire career.” He sips at the coffee again and sets it down. He points to another line on the sheet. “But with the creatinine? Can’t figure it out.”
“Huh,” Wilson says, eyeing it with the utmost fascination in his eyes. He gives himself a little shake and stands up. “Hopefully she doesn’t lose her kidneys,” he says sympathetically, and House rolls his eyes. He puts his hands on his hips. “Well, enjoy my coffee. See you at lunch?”
“Yeah,” House says and unthinking, puts one hand around Wilson, low enough that he’s almost at his ass, and curls his other fist in Wilson’s shirt to bring him down for a soft kiss.
The room falls silent as a morgue in the time it takes for House to end the kiss. He looks first at Wilson, who is staring at him, and then his fellows, half of whom are also staring at him and half of whom are staring at Wilson.
He glares back up at Wilson, and hisses, “Hands on hips!”
“You are not pinning this on me!” Wilson whispers back. “I told you they’d find out, I didn’t think it’d be this soon! It’s on you!”
The fellows are still silent, able to hear all of this stupid whisper-fight. Wilson does not, however, try to pull away from House, even though his palm is now resting definitely over the curve of Wilson's ass.
It’d be incredibly difficult to pass this off as a prank by now, and the fellows are looking more intrigued by the minute. So he does the logical thing and says, “This must be a hard way for you to find out, dear children, but when a man loves a man very much…”
Their eyes bug out and Taub actually knocks a file of films off the table with his elbow.
“Oh come on!” House snaps. “Our patient is dying! Not one of you can tell me why her lung collapsed without warning! Focus! If you think a lukewarm kiss—" he can just about hear Wilson’s bitch face “—is more interesting than anything on this job, you’re welcome to leave it.”
Foreman is the first to lose interest, rambling off some incorrect possible diagnosis and then Thirteen tears her eyes away to disagree with him, followed by Chase, then lastly Taub.
“Yes, lunch,” House says then, turning back to Wilson. Wilson is giving him some sort of look, and then he leans down and gives House an even softer kiss than the first. He straightens House’s blazer and leaves as quickly as he arrived.
He can practically feel how hard the team is straining their peripherals at him. “I said give me answers!” He snaps his fingers at them. “Come on now! There are four of you these days, I should be getting better ideas with the extra brain power. If I’m not, that means one of you is actually brain dead and once I figure out who…”
A large number of wildly far reaching and implausible diagnoses are being volleyed at him, so he sits back and gulps at Wilson’s coffee as he shoots every single one of them down.
•••
It’s not so bad, House reasons by the time lunch comes around. His gossiping ducklings have spread the word enough that more than a few people are staring when he and Wilson arrive but it also means that he can openly keep a hand at the small of Wilson’s back while they move through line.
“Have they said anything about it?” Wilson asks as he frowns while House steals some of his fries once they've sat down, staunchly ignoring the fervent glances their way. “I bought you your own, you know.”
“There’s just something about stealing yours that makes them so much tastier,” House tells him earnestly. “And no. Cowards. But they will. None of them can possibly resist the fact that I now have a personal life, especially one that’s so very gay.”
Wilson makes a that’s fair face and steals some of House’s fries, as if to even the score. “I suppose it’ll make its way back to Cuddy soon enough.”
House points a fry at him. “Now that is really something I can’t wait for. She’s going to absolutely lose her mind. There’s nothing she can do, of course but—”
“You two!” It’s Cuddy’s voice and there’s the clack of heels coming steadily toward them.
“Speak of the inappropriately dressed devil!” House calls loudly as she approaches. Wilson kicks him underneath the table, and House traps his foot between his own ankles. He takes a sip from Wilson’s soda.
Cuddy stops before their table. “A little birdie told me that love is in the air,” she says.
House waits for the outburst, the lecture.
“James, House,” she says. “I’m really happy for you two.”
He can hear the cough Wilson gives that means he’s holding back laughter and releases Wilson’s foot just to lodge a hefty kick at his shin. Wilson is expecting it and dodges the blow before it can land.
“You what,” House says lamely.
“It’s always made so much sense,” Cuddy explains, sounding like she’s about to tell the beginnings of a great romance. “I mean, I can’t imagine how dysfunctional and weird your actual relationship is but I’d imagine it’s just what the both of you want. And I’m happy for you. Genuinely. Of course, if it all goes to hell, keep it out of my hospital.” She smiles beatifically at them and expresses once more just how very fucking happy she is for them and clacks away.
Wilson laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
“No sex tonight,” House snarls, which is a goddamned lie. For good measure, he takes Wilson’s drink with him as he gets up and leaves, with Wilson still laughing behind him at the table.
•••
He discovers that Wilson very unexpectedly calls House baby when House fucks him—something he didn't do the other way around—which would be absolutely hilarious if it weren’t hot enough that House’s vision tunnels every time Wilson says it all breathy and choked.
Wilson also likes when House shampoos his hair for him in the shower. He goes boneless and makes little noises despite House cajoling him for it, and sleeps like the dead afterwards.
It isn’t so bad that Wilson gets to be so completely his this way, and for other people to know it, to know Wilson is off limits and that Wilson chose House.
It just isn’t so bad.
•••
Chase is the first to broach the subject. House goes to harass him about hurrying up while Chase is running some labs and before House can leave after verbally abusing him, he says without prompting, “Honestly, I just assumed you and Wilson had been banging on and off for years now.”
It’s interesting enough—had everyone but House been aware of this?—that House pauses inside the room and allows Chase to continue.
“What’s surprising,” Chase muses, narrowing his eye at a test tube of blood, “is the relationship part.”
“Really?” House asks before he can stop himself.
“I mean, it makes sense.” House wonders if he and Cuddy have been talking. “But I never would have figured you could make it work.”
House frowns. “Yes, well, thanks so much for your unsolicited relationship advice. I can see from recent events that your judgment in these matters should definitely be trusted.”
Chase doesn’t rise to the bait. He picks up another test tube, examines that. “New relationship aside, have you two really not been hooking up this whole time?”
“Finish the tests,” House says irritably. Chase sighs and just scoots over to the microscope, apparently settled with the end of the conversation.
•••
Thirteen is more forward. She stalks into House’s office while he’s bidding at an online auction, having sent each of the team off on various tasks for their cases.
“You should be running a stress test with Taub,” House says flippantly after looking up briefly at her. “Damn it!” The new bid is up $300 and he clicks out of it dejectedly.
Thirteen is standing there, arms crossed. “After all the shit you gave me.”
House sighs. “So what? You wanted me to join you in the gloried fellowship of gayness? Sing kumbaya and wave a little rainbow flag with you?”
She sits down on one of the chairs in front of his desk. “So that’s what you were afraid of, on that phone call,” she says knowingly. “And that’s who the ‘he’ was.” She regards him pensively.
House shifts uncomfortably in his seat, unwilling to make eye contact. “I assure you I have a deep fear of Mickey Mouse. It’s the voice. And the ears.”
“Well, good job anyway. He’s not my quite type but objectively, you definitely scored. So high five to that.”
“Mickey Mouse is a score?”
Thirteen laughs. “How’s the sex? I’m curious.”
House considers honestly telling her. Maybe over beers. He feels that she would be the only person around here worthy of trading sex stories.
She’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat, as if aware she’s won some fucked up game amongst the fellows, the chosen one who gets even a glimpse into House’s personal life.
House smiles back. “Go do the fucking stress test.”
•••
Foreman does not seem to want to acknowledge it at all. House takes to giving Wilson hard kisses whenever Forearm is around, and grabs Wilson’s ass once or twice in front of him too. Wilson half heartedly attempts to tell him off, but mostly seems pleased by it, cheeks pink each time.
House is beginning to suspect that Wilson has a thing for House being public about them, for House showing shamelessness about it. He even thinks Wilson might enjoy how possessive he gets.
But this is neither here nor there for the peculiar fact that Foreman seems determined to turn a stubbornly blind eye to it.
“Is it some sort of weird flavor of homophobia?” House finally asks, arm around Wilson’s waist while all three of them examine films in his office.
“House,” Wilson hisses.
Foreman raises a brow, otherwise unruffled. “I’m not homophobic.”
“Oh, he says he’s not homophobic which empirically improves he’s not,” House stage-whispers to Wilson, who frowns at him and apologizes to Foreman—and still makes no attempt to step away from House at all.
“Look, do you want me to comment on your relationship? Why is that so important to you? Shouldn’t that be kept between you and your partner?”
House snorts. “He said ‘partner’, Wilson. He’s so progressive.”
“House, knock it off. I think that’s a cyst, not a tumor,” Wilson adds, pointing to a spot on the film.
Foreman leans in. “Are you sure? I see a tumor. Look at the edges, near the—”
“He said it looked like a cyst,” House supplies. “So you really have nothing to say? The entire hospital is turned upside down over this and you’re not even going to blink?”
Foreman sighs and looks over at House. “Your narcissism really knows no bounds. All I’ve really gotten from this is that Wilson’s divorces and infidelity make a lot of sense.”
Wilson splutters stupidly then, and House lets a small smile stretch at his lips. Foreman turns back to the film. “I still think it’s a tumor. I’m going to get Chase, see what he thinks.”
Wilson pouts as he leaves. “You’re the one that’s been bullying him, he had no reason to take a shot at me.”
“Yes, dear,” House says vaguely, squeezing his shoulder and leaning in to eye the film more closely.
•••
Taub is the last, and the worst, which is fitting, House supposes. He’s the opposite of Foreman, unable to stop himself from looking warily at them when House and Wilson are in any kind of proximity to one another.
He even gets shifty when House says Wilson’s name, in reference or in passing. It’s amusing mostly, and he idly wonders what will make Taub break and acknowledge it.
It turns out to be the simplest thing. House is watching Taub redo an EGD, because the first attempt showed no abnormalities, which can’t be possible with the patient’s symptoms. “No ulcers or lacerations in the esophagus,” Taub intones, a note of resentment in his voice. If he didn’t want to be babysat, he shouldn’t have fucked up.
“Good thing we still have an entire stomach and duodenum to go,” House says bitingly. “As I’d hope you’d recall from your first year of medical school.”
Wilson pops his head in then. “You’re assisting a patient procedure?” He looks tired and his hair is messy, as though he’s been running his hands through it. House frowns.
“Only because he can’t do it,” House says, gesturing to Taub, who is clearly attempting to split his concentration between them and the procedure. “Stay focused!”
Wilson sighs, but doesn’t berate House.
House frowns deeper. “You should take an early day.”
Wilson smiles at him, just a quick thing. “Can’t. Have to deliver three more prognoses.”
“They can wait,” House insists. “If they’re dying, they’re still going to be dying tomorrow. Go home and take a nap. You look absolutely awful. And not in a cute way.”
“House,” Wilson says patiently, kindly. “I’m alright. I just wanted to remind you we have to stop and pick up more food for Limmy on the way home, and I thought we could get Thai takeout for dinner while we did that. Okay?”
House nods, still eyeing Wilson’s depleted appearance. Taub has now stopped the procedure entirely, and is doing a piss poor job of pretending he isn’t watching them.
“I’m okay, House. Thanks for caring, but stop worrying about me. I’ll see you in a bit.” Wilson gives him a nod and retreats.
“Any particular reason you’re risking more complications on our unconscious patient by drawing out the procedure unnecessarily?” House snaps.
Taub glares and starts moving the scope again. There’s a beat and then he says, “I have a cousin who’s gay.”
House rolls his eyes. “How brave of you.”
“Wilson’s a good guy,” Taub tries again.
“Better than you,” House agrees.
Wilson is better than everyone in this damn hospital, but his point still stands.
•••
“We’ve just had fried chicken for Thanksgiving dinner, there’s no way you can actually want to kiss me right now,” Wilson insists, his mouth looking infinitely kissable. Wilson underestimates House’s perversion.
“You underestimate my perversion,” House tells him, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him to straddle House properly on the couch.
“I didn’t think that was possible,” Wilson says. “House, this is disgusting.”
House lets go of him. “Then go. Go and wash up if you don’t want any action right now. Go on.”
Wilson glares at him. “Disgusting,” he mutters, then kisses House soundly. Their lips are all greasy and it should be gross but it’s not because House is perverse and it is Wilson.
He gets both hands on Wilson’s face and holds him still, kisses him thorough and languidly, taking his time with it. He likes the shuddery breaths Wilson gives when he’s slow about this, and the incrementally relaxing of his body, like bit by bit he’s just giving in to pure feeling.
He grabs Wilson’s ass and Wilson makes a squeaky sound and kisses him deeper. “You know,” House says as Wilson kisses down his jawline, “if every holiday had been spent this way in the past I’d have been far more festive.”
Wilson snorts. “Yes, and the themes of generosity, love, and joy just weren’t enough.”
“Exactly.”
House sucks a lazy mark onto Wilson’s neck, and Wilson sighs, lolling his head to the side. House shoves the hand not on Wilson’s ass up the back of his shirt, feeling out warm, soft skin all for himself. “Every holiday will be like this from now on,” Wilson promises.
“Better be,” House murmurs.
Wilson gets his own hands up House’s shirt and digs his nails into the skin over House’s ribs as he kisses House again, lips sliding more filthily this time. House pulls back just to look at him, because he likes how Wilson’s already pouty lips get moreso when he’s been kissed and he likes the dark, open look in Wilson’s eyes. House puts a hand to Wilson’s cheek and Wilson turns to kiss his palm.
Limmy chooses just then to jump onto the couch, and attempts to wobble her way between them, slipping awkwardly over their arms and shoulders and getting caught between their chests. She looks up at them and meows indignantly, as if this is all their fault.
“I’ll feed her,” Wilson sighs, and gives House a quick kiss with her pressed between them. She meows in annoyance again and Wilson stands up, taking her with him.
House stretches and massages his leg slightly, which isn’t hurting too badly at all. “We should take the day off tomorrow.”
“What?” Wilson says from the kitchen, sounding surprised. “You want to miss work, potential cases? Two days in a row?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” House rebuffs, scowling slightly. “Maybe I’m trying for work-life balance.” He reaches out for the remote and turns the TV on, flipping absently through channels.
“I honestly can’t believe you just used the phrase work-life balance,” Wilson laughs.
“Keep it up and you’re sleeping on the couch,” House says grouchily.
“Seeing as it’s both my bed and my couch,” Wilson says, “I think I get to make that call.” He comes to stand behind House, leans down and cranes his head to kiss House’s cheek. He rests his hands on House’s shoulders. “House.”
“What,” House mutters, turning the TV off. He tilts his chin back and Wilson gives him an upside down kiss.
“I’m really happy,” Wilson whispers, like a confession. “House. I’m really—I’m really happy.”
House turns his head to better look at Wilson, but they’re so close it’s mostly just a blur of dilating pupils, dark lashes and crow’s feet. He brings a hand up and feels around until he can place his palm on Wilson’s cheek. “Yeah. Me too.”
Wilson tries to kiss him, but their smiles get in the way. House searches for any trace of cynicism he can pull to mind, because once he would have torn apart the very concept of happiness, but now he comes up entirely empty.
•••
“Wilson wants to get married. Or have a civil union. Whatever. I don’t know what the latest gay thing is. But he wants that. I do too, I think.”
Nolan raises his eyebrows. “It’s been less than three weeks.”
“No,” House scoffs. “It’s been almost twenty years.”