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The data was in. The problem was located. Solution locked into the firing computer.
House loped towards Wilson’s office with determination and absolutely no care for his trio of fellows desperately seeking direction and absolution.
“Oh, it was never a date,” Bonnie said blithely, as if she weren’t confirming House’s worst fears about Wilson’s not-a-date with Cuddy. “I was coming off a bad relationship and he said we could go out as friends, you know, go see plays, go to a museum.”
As friends. That’s how House and Wilson had always done things—as friends. They hadn’t gone to museums, because House could think of few activities less interesting and more irritating than walking endlessly through dusty pedantic exhibits (though maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he leaned on Wilson and got to lecture him the whole time…) and they hadn’t gone to plays, because that really would be like a date—which was part of the issue. Maybe a play or two would have changed things…
But they’d definitely done things, as friends. Things, had been done, by them. Many things. And yet?
“So…he’d say it’s not a date, but then he’d jump you,” House filled in the blanks. Bonnie laughed gaily, “Oh no, he meant it.”
“You never jumped me,” House announced as he flung Wilson’s office door open.
“I’m…sorry? Was I supposed to steal your car or…?”
“Not like that,” House leaned on the door to shut it, “In the sexy way.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I can’t figure out why.”
“Well.” Wilson pretended to be engrossed in his charts but House could tell from the hunch of his shoulders that he had Wilson’s full attention. “The obvious reason would be: because you’re an obnoxious ass who I have absolutely no interest in.”
“Yeah, yeah,” House used his cane to scoop Wilson’s half-done paperwork to the floor and make room for his backside to sit all up close and personal on Wilson’s side of the desk, “Thought of that already, Doctor Dim Bulb. Considered and rejected.”
“Is this still about how I took Cuddy to that museum? Because I’ve been holding this in reserve, but she only went with me because she thought I was…” Wilson adopted a hushed tone, “safe.”
“She already told me that. An obvious lie.”
“No…she meant I was safe. To talk to. About…” Wilson circled his fingers upward in a baffling gesture, “You know. Women.”
“Their existence? I’ve heard the evidence of women is mounting. Confirmed sightings and everything.”
“No! I mean. About liking women.”
House froze. Hydroplaned, more accurately. “Oh, you bastard.”
“Yes. But not a liar. Please don’t spread it around, I promised I wouldn’t say anything to you, specifically.”
“But you did tell me specifically…wow. You are seriously pulling out all the stops to distract me.” House slapped himself hard in the face. Wilson startled. House carried on bravely, “But we will talk about our boss’ budding lesbian desires another time.”
Wilson’s jaw dropped as House began his speech in earnest. “I know I’ve gotten the first two-thirds of the exclusively trademarked James Wilson Accidental Seduction treatment. One, the oodles of super-supportive friendship time. The outings, the late night phone calls, the dropping everything to fit me into your schedule. And two, the emotional stuff. You—you calibrated your protectiveness levels for my individual needs,” House spat the Bonnie-quote.
“That makes me sound like a condom,” Wilson remarked mildly.
“But that last essential third…nothing! Absolute nada on the sex front.” Wilson was too much of a professional to blush, but House was close enough to feel the distinct rise in epidermal temperature. “Couldn’t figure it out. Until I had good girly gab with the second ex-Mrs. Wilson and I realized what I was doing wrong.”
Bonnie reflected on her failed marriage with a strangely fond giggle, “It was very endearing. He really just wanted to be a friend. So, I jumped him.” And she wandered off on the tour, like she hadn’t just handed House the key to Wilson City.
“She had to jump you. You didn’t initiate. Because you’re a gentleman.”
“And you make that sound like a chronic gastrointestinal condition.”
“All this time! I’ve been wasting away waiting like a demure damsel in the rain for my prince to come—”
“—are you on acid? Again?—”
“—when all this time, no matter what hints I dropped or lewd suggestions I politely wafted under your nose, you were never gonna make a move because you really just valued our friendship,” House raised his voice high and mocking. “Christ! I think this has to be a record. No way anyone’s been friend-zoned as hard or as long as I have.”
“Are you kidding me?” Wilson shot up from his chair and shouted. If House were less of a kindly soul, he’d categorize that more specifically as ‘shrieked.’ “I did not stick you in the friend-zone. You friend-zoned me!”
“What?”
“Yeah! In fucking New Orleans!”
“Wh—”
House didn’t even get the whole syllable out before Wilson was in full rampage mode. “—You swoop in all knight in shining—well, okay, rusty armor—and get me out of jail and fix everything like some scruffy avenging angel and your only explanation is,” Wilson dipped his voice low in a ridiculously exaggerated version of House, “‘you just seemed interesting.’ Interesting! How was I supposed to interpret that?”
“I—”
“Exactly!” Wilson barreled on. House popped his mouth shut. Still rhetorical time, it would seem. “It’s the most textbook romantic save, but do you take my hand? No. Do you kiss me? Decidedly no. Do you take me back to your hotel room so I can ask, ‘oh, how can I ever repay you?’ and then repay you in the obvious, fun, probably oral manner I had in mind? No!”
“No,” House echoed, dazed at the imagery of a young Wilson fresh out of lock-up with his big sad divorcee eyes going to his knees in that humid New Orleans hotel room and showing House his gratitude.
“You were the one who instead took me out drinking and got me in trouble with a bunch of Saints fans that I still don’t really remember and then dumped me in the bathtub to pass out alone!”
“Easier to clean up the inevitable puke that way,” House said reasonably.
Wilson’s hands landed on House’s chest, waffled for a moment, then gripped his wrinkled collar. “If you wanted to fuck me, then why didn’t you fuck me!”
“It’s not polite to do that without asking. Criminal, actually—"
Wilson huffed and released him. House didn’t want that. He grabbed Wilson’s hands and brought them back to his neck. “Because I had no idea you wanted me too,” he admitted in a much smaller voice. Then, “And I couldn’t let your possible rejection mar my 100% hook-up acceptance rate.”
Wilson coughed a laugh. “Easy to maintain when all you have to do is write a check.” His fingers played sweetly alone the lines of House’s throat.
“Please. Working girls take credit cards.”
House put the two bizarre pieces together to conclude: “So, you’re saying if you actually had sex before you connected emotionally, you’d have gotten over it.”
“Besides,” House added, “You’re not taking into account the real risk on my side.”
“And what would that be?” Wilson inquired dryly, “Besides putting the lie to your perfect one night stand record.”
“That’s just it. You wouldn’t be a one night stand. Unless…you would have been. The only thing worse than that would be not being that…and then fucking off and leaving me broken.”
“I’m barely following this. Honestly, I’m barely believing this—”
“It’s simple. You’ve already got the monopoly on all my…” House made a gesture around his chest like a patient pointing out a rash, “Emotional. Stuff.”
“A scarce resource in House-land,” Wilson said wisely.
“Yeah. Makes it all the more valuable, if I remember Econ 101.”
Wilson’s warm, crooked smile would’ve taken House out at the knees if said joints hadn’t already given up the ghost around when Wilson said “oral.”
“So how could I put all my eggs in your basket?”
“The…feelings eggs and the sex eggs?” Wilson struggled through the basic metaphor.
“Yes, those eggs,” House confirmed impatiently, just now realizing that they’d both inadvertently confirmed they wanted to fuck the other but he was still for some godforsaken reason talking instead of getting to see Wilson’s dick.
Bonnie laughed again, and House could tell she was trying to make him uncomfortable, but wow was talking about Wilson’s sexual prowess having a different effect. “It seems weird, doesn’t it? Because sex with James is fantastic. Nobody works harder to give a woman what she wants.”
House steered the conversation away from the Bermuda’s triangle of vulnerable emotions and back towards yummier waters.
“Your second little lady reject…well. I may have committed a minor lie of omission earlier in neglecting to use the exact words Bonnie employed to describe how you are in bed.”
“Oh, and what were these exact words?”
“Uh, ‘fantastic’ made an appearance. And she might’ve said something about how…”
“How?” Wilson pressed, eagerness winning out over embarrassment.
“How, and I quote, ‘nobody works harder to give a woman what she wants.’” House cocked a brow and slipped a provocative finger into Wilson’s waistband, “Just wondering if that offer is gender-locked or if it applies to ruggedly handsome male best friends, too.”
“Well, if he’s ruggedly handsome…I suppose I could make an exception.” Wilson brought his hand up to cup House’s cheek. “Do I get to kiss you before I make you beg?”
“Yes—I mean, no, there’s won’t be any—” House sputtered, “fuck you, just put your tongue in my mouth already.”
And because Wilson looked inclined to laugh more than follow orders, House jumped him.
Wilson’s lips were dry and startled but almost immediately welcomed him in, his arms going around House to erase the space between them. He tasted a little like black coffee and his cafeteria chicken salad that House had picked half the meat out of earlier in the day, but mostly it was just raw heat and the rough texture of his tongue contrasted with the silky smooth run of his bottom lip and the shock of his teeth when he teased further into House’s mouth.
House decided he’d better get in while the going was good and dropped both hands down to grasp Wilson’s ass. Wilson sighed a little and ground his hips forward.
Wilson flattened his hand against House’s chest, scratching down through fabric across his abdomen and then twisting the angle to head lower. House had been getting hard since Wilson started throwing around randy scenarios about jailhouse rescue nookie and when Wilson’s palm landed on his crotch his hips snapped forward hungrily. Wilson rubbed back against the movement, all encouragement, his own interest growing against House.
“Where’s your car?” House asked with his mouth breathlessly spread over Wilson’s, brain ten steps ahead but body at least twelve.
“Why?”
“Because I took the bike in and it’s hell to ride with a hard-on, let me tell you.”
“I don’t understand why you think I’m letting you go anywhere,” Wilson murmured against House’s jaw as his thumb slowly dragged open House’s belt and started work on his button.
“You want to have sex in your office?”
“I want to have sex in a five-star hotel in Rio, but much like waiting all the way until we’re back at your place to fuck you, it’s not gonna happen. So. Unzip and let me blow you because I’ve been waiting to do it for ten goddamn years.”
Wilson locked the office door and closed the narrow window blinds with a rough snap.
House reached for his fly.
Wilson landed back in his chair like a man on a mission, parting House’s legs and propping his bad thigh up to rest on the desktop, so he was spread out at a more convenient angle to debauch.
“Do you want—oh fuck, you’re just going for it,” House’s unsure attempt at politeness (one of the many nice things about professionals was the clarity of negotiation about services, no awkward inquiries about comfort levels, just a rated pay scale) was cut off as Wilson yanked House’s underwear down and pulled his cock out.
“Hmm,” Wilson said.
“Hmm?” House repeated, “What’s hmm?”
“Just…reflecting,” Wilson idly traced a thumb over the head and House saw stars, “I think I actually underestimated. You know. When I thought about it.”
“You flirt. Wait, you perv! When did you think about it.”
“When do you think?” Wilson asked, before going down.
House thought about showers and lonely nights in bed and on the couch and maybe with other people and dear god in heaven thank you for sending me the worst real estate agent in New Jersey so that I could finally get this…
“Oh my fucking god,” House groaned and slid a hand into Wilson’s hair, “Why didn’t I stalk and harass your ex-wife into giving me the goods on you sooner.”
Wilson shot him a look and slipped in to fondle House’s balls. House decided to shut up.
He let his hips start to rock gently forward and Wilson made a grateful noise around him that pretty much electrocuted House. He got both hands in on the hair-pulling action. Wilson was letting him hit the back of his throat, and that did raise some questions about who else he’d had back there, but House set the interrogation aside for later. It didn’t really matter. He was the one fucking that perfect mouth now.
House let his head tip back as pleasure started to build, each flick of Wilson’s tongue over the sensitive glans bringing him close enough to be the last.
“Uh.” House blinked. Squinted. Grinned. “I just had a premonition. I think Foreman’s gonna leave the fellowship.”
Wilson pulled off, incredulous, but also helplessly drawn by the potential to have a conversation about Ethics and Leadership. “…Because of how things are going south with your patient?”
“Nope. I mean, that too. But more because he just tried to find me by going over the balcony from my office and looking in that glass door.”
“Oh, for fuck’s—!” Wilson couldn’t even finish the oath, whipping around to find the unfortunate neurologist long gone but the damage done.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. All kids eventually learn that their parents have sex. It’s a natural part in the life journey.”
Wilson pointed a fierce lecturing finger up at House, “We are…putting a pin in this. There will be words. Later.”
“Later,” House agreed, a soothing hand stroking down Wilson’s jaw.
“Because we’re busy right now. Very busy. And really…it’s his fault for sticking his nose in.”
“Yeah, he should stay out of our special friend time.”
“Not just friends anymore,” Wilson nuzzled House’s erection in a maddening and possibly illegal way, but then kept talking, “I think we officially changed titles at the point where your dick entered my mouth.”
“It’s like walking into a sticky trap,” Bonnie reflected thoughtlessly, “Once you’re the focus of all that attention, it’s addictive. Always there to support you, until he’s not, but by then you’re hooked.”
“But we are still friends?” House didn’t mean it to sound like a question. He didn’t mean to say it out loud at all.
“Of course, we’re still friends.” Wilson’s brow furrowed in that adorable worried teddy-bear-staring-down-a-tax-return way of his.
“Good. Because the whole ‘wife’ category really didn’t work out for the ladies in question. But ‘friend’ has been…pretty okay. Friend actually trumped Wife, at least according to Bonnie.”
Wilson leaned his head against House’s thigh, face turned up to him, “That’s because I love you.”
House scoffed. This was to cover how he was torn between running for his life, taking out a full page ad in the paper to announce the news, or just possibly crying. “I know that. You love everybody. I’ve told you, it’s your—”
“—pathology, yeah. But I love you more,” Wilson said simply. “Is that okay?”
“Sure, fine, whatever. Can we get back to the dick sucking part of this talent show now?” House asked, desperate for at least two reasons.
Wilson leapt back onstage with a flourish of tongue. And when the dedicated—fantastic—rhythm of his mouth made House come it was intense, and long, and toe-curling, and it filled his whole body up with relief and satisfaction that had been alien for too many years.
House found himself panting and petting Wilson’s hair. He stopped both and clumsily tucked himself back together. Wilson took a sip of cold coffee (House could’ve warned him that wasn’t the best palate cleanser in this context) and winced as he swallowed.
“So,” Wilson glanced up at him through his battered fringe of recently man-handled hair, “Do the reviews come in tonight or do I have to wait for the morning edition?”
House leaned down and kissed him. “Review enough for ya?” He stretched back lazily on the desk, loose and carefree in the post-climax haze. “About what you said…”
He turned his head away but flicked his eyes back to meet Wilson’s. “Getting a guy who loves everyone to love me more than everyone, it’s impressive. Almost as impressive...as getting a guy who doesn’t love anybody to love him.”
Wilson processed this, eyes widening. “Am I…impressive?”
“Always have been.” House let the barely camouflaged admission linger for just a moment. “It’s why I picked you out of that jailhouse line-up. There was an exotic dance troupe in the next cell over, you know, but I passed on them for your sweet ass.”
Wilson laughed softly and stood to press their noses together, eyes closed and not kissing, just breathing. “I’m glad you did. And although I wish we hadn't wasted so much time—”
“—and wedding cake and divorce fees—”
“—I’m just grateful that we finally found what we've been looking for.”
“And that is?”
House felt Wilson’s grin as he replied, “The exit out of the friend-zone.”
House matched the smile. “Remind me to send Bonnie flowers.”