Chapter Text
Since their impromptu massage session a few nights ago, House has been getting more and more openly touchy with Wilson.
It had started out innocently enough - a hand on the elbow here, a casual hair-ruffle there. They’ve even continued to sleep in the same bed, starting out on their own sides and always ending up tangled together the next morning. But the moment Wilson decides that they're finally going to talk about this whole thing between them is when House grabs a great big handful of his ass and squeezes, right in the middle of the waiting room. It’s a bold move even for him.
Not that he had particularly minded, of course, but the fact that there was a ton of strangers around to gawk - not to mention the absolutely mortifying fact that Cuddy had seen - meant that there was a lot of awkward questions involved, and he’d rather not go through that again without knowing where him and House stand relationship-wise.
Since then he’s been mulling it over in his head all day, trying to figure out how to even approach the conversation. He wants to come out to House tonight, he knows that for sure, but everything else is just… nebulous. There’s so much he wants to say, but he has no idea how to go about forming the thoughts into a cohesive sentence.
Should he make some big speech? Prattle on about love and acceptance, about how hard it was for him to come to terms with it… no, no way. House would be bored by the third sentence. Maybe he should just kiss him; skip the talking stage completely. Surely that would speak for itself?
It still doesn’t feel right, though, and he does actually wants to discuss this properly. So, that option’s off the table.
He could just wing it, to be fair. It seems to have worked for them so far, and it means he won’t be agonising over what to say at every waking moment.
Yeah, that’ll do, he decides, opting to try and put it out of his mind.
The rest of his day passes by in a blur, then. It’s a quiet evening, with all his appointments finished already, so he decides to catch up with his paperwork. Boring as it is, it helps take his mind off his nerves about the Big Conversation tonight.
It’s all too soon until House is busting into his office like usual, demanding that Wilson drive the two of them home. They’re back at their apartment soon enough, the actual journey barely registering in his mind, and it’s now, as he stands in the doorway, that all his anxieties come rushing back to him.
What if House doesn’t feel the same way? What if he kicks Wilson out, disgusted like his parents and peers had been so many years ago? What if this ruins their friendship, and he loses the best thing he’s ever had in his life?
“Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna go in? I’m freezing my balls off out here.”
House’s voice behind him startles him out of his reverie, and he hastily bundles himself inside, jittering with nerves. He can tell House is suspicious of his sudden twitchiness, but thankfully he decides not to comment on it, making a beeline for the leftover Chinese in the fridge instead.
Glad to see he's got his priorities straight.
Unfortunately, this leaves Wilson alone with his thoughts again, which is not ideal. He locks the door and finds his way to the couch, flicking on the TV just so he can have some background noise while he tries to get his brain back in working order.
Because the thing is this: they've had plenty of rough patches before, and it's always been fine. They always come back to each other in the end, no matter how much they shout and scream, in some sort of messed-up and illogical symbiosis that really shouldn't work but does anyway. And granted, their previous fights have never been about something as terrifying as romantic feelings, but surely their more-than-a-decade of friendship will fix things over if it all goes tits-up.
Wilson feels at least a marginally better about his chances now, at least, as House limps back in with the newly-reheated leftovers and a couple beers. He thrusts a portion to Wilson as he collapses down next to him, tossing a fork soon after.
"Yeah, sure, make the cripple do all the hard labour while you relax in here. I see how it is."
Wilson throws an exasperated glance at the ceiling, as if asking for help from above.
"I cook and clean for you all the time, House, you’ve never done a day’s hard labour in your life. It's about time you start pulling your weight around here."
He slips into the banter easily, masking his trepidation as he steels himself for the conversation he knows is coming.
House, ever oblivious to Wilson’s internal turmoil, leans in, batting his eyelashes.
"Not ‘til you start putting out for me, Jimmy," he croons in a terrible falsetto.
That's as good a segue as any, he supposes.
"Speaking of," Wilson starts, clearing his throat nervously at the confused and vaguely suggestive glance House gives him, "There's, uh, something you should know. About me."
House just looks at him dumbly, raising an eyebrow in a ‘go on’ gesture.
"I'm-"
He struggles with the words, glancing away; it feels like his throat is closing up and his tongue is twice as thick. He has to take a few deep breaths, but he eventually manages to choke it out: "I'm gay."
Now that it’s in the open, it's like a weight's been lifted from his chest. All at once the bone-crushing burden that he's carried for years is gone, gone, gone.
Wilson holds his breath, waiting for the response; he knows that House has said some... well, some not-so-great things in the past, but once in a blue moon he is indeed capable of being nice. He hopes that now will be one of those times.
He risks looking back up at House, who blinks at him once, twice. Not a great reaction so far, but not a terrible one either. Then-
“Congrats. You’re officially the last one to know.”
That makes him do a double-take.
“What?”
“C’mon, Wilson, it’s obvious. No straight man goes through three divorces, then moves in with and practically throws themselves at their same-sex best friend.”
“…And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I thought you knew! I thought you were just being private about it!”
That earns a snort from Wilson.
“Oh, please. As if you care about keeping my secrets.”
They look at each other again, and that's all it takes for them to start laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all; Wilson feels lighter than he has in years, maybe even his whole life. They slump into each other, and he wonders why he was ever worried in the first place.
"I'm in love with you," he says breezily, still giddy with laughter. House just gives a sigh of relief, sighing into Wilson’s hair and pulling him closer.
"Yeah. Me too."
And that's that. No dancing around the subject, no yelling, no breaking down in tears. Just the two of them curled up on the couch, giggling like drunken maniacs despite being stone-cold sober.
It's perfect.
“I totally called it, though,” House says smugly, because he can’t just leave a tender moment alone. Wilson rolls his eyes fondly, before the urge for mischief strikes him. Gently, he tugs the collar of House’s shirt down enough to expose his neck; in return, he gets himself an amused glance.
"What're you doing?"
He doesn't answer - just grins up at House cheekily, before biting hard into the meat of his trapezius.
House shudders and groans, tilting his head back and whispering a quiet fuck. Wilson smirks into his shoulder, not quite expecting that strong of a reaction; apparently the affinity for biting goes both ways. Good to know.
He pulls back a little, licking up the tiny beads of blood that well up, before mouthing along the pretty neck that he's admired for so long, marking him up as he goes. Not even a turtleneck will be able to hide this tomorrow, he thinks smugly.
"Mmmf," House mumbles intelligently as Wilson reaches his jaw, clearly getting impatient. “C’mere.”
He pulls him round by the tie, crashing their mouths togther passionately, and it's all Wilson can do to hold himself up because holy shit he is good.
His lips are chapped against Wilson’s own smooth ones, and the contrast makes him groan a little. He’s been so used to kissing women all these years, and now that he’s finally got his hands - and mouth - on another man, it feels right.
Wilson presses even closer to him, nibbling at him a little as his hands wander across House’s chest, his sides, down to his waist; they settle there, gripping in a way that he hopes will bruise.
House’s tongue presses insistently against his mouth at that and he quickly acquiesces, letting him explore as he pleases. He tastes like soy sauce and beer and something undeniably him, and Wilson melts, nails scratching at the base of his scalp.
They part for just a moment, foreheads pressed together as they catch their breath. Wilson noses along his jaw, eyes hazy with want.
“Bedroom?” he murmurs feather-soft against the shell of House’s ear.
“Fuck, yeah,” House responds eagerly, standing up and practically dragging him along the hall as fast as his leg will allow. They’re grinning like idiots the whole way, stopping every other second to push each against the wall and start up their kiss again.
Eventually, though, they reach their destination, and the bedroom door slams shut behind them.
They don’t come back out for a very, very long time.
House bursts in through the door in his usual dramatic manner, startling Chase so badly he nearly drops his crossword book. He checks his watch; it’s far too early for House to be in by several hours, and the man is smiling, which immediately puts him on edge.
The most likely reason for House to be grinning like that is if he’s got some god-awful prank in store. Then again, he’s actually been relatively docile for the past few days - and when Chase catches sight of the dark bite marks displayed proudly along his neck, well, it all falls into place.
“You got laid,” he announces gleefully, pointing his pen at House. “More than just a hooker, by the look on your face.”
His partners look up from their discussion with vague interest, and House immediately schools his features into a scowl, flopping into his chair and rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. You should see the other guy, he’s just as bad.”
His attention is immediately piqued at the fact that House slept with a man; he can tell Foreman and Cameron are too, if their now-blatant staring is anything to go by.
“Who was it?” Cameron asks, unsuccessfully trying to hide her eagerness. “Anyone we know?”
Chase sincerely hopes it’s Wilson, because his bet of three months is going to expire very, very soon and he would very much like his money and gloating rights.
House just raises an eyebrow at the three of them.
“Are you really that desperate to hear about my sex life?”
Before any of them can respond, Wilson walks in with two coffees in his hands and a slew of hickeys across his throat that he’s not even trying to cover.
“Morning,” he chirps, ignoring the three pairs of eyes that zone in on his neck as he makes his way to House. “Brought you something.”
Chase very quickly puts the pieces together.
“You did fuck Wilson! Hell yeah!” He whirls to his partners, holding a hand out demandingly. “Pay up!”
Wilson registers his words with astonishment, turning towards him and his partners. “You bet on us?”
They all ignore him, grumbling at Chase, but they each give him the promised $50 as House pipes up from behind them -
”Well, he was the one doing the fucking.”
“House,” Wilson stresses, throwing a mortified arm over his eyes. Then, to the three of them: “I can’t believe you three. How long has this been going on for?”
“Just under three months,” Foreman grouses, still put out by losing.
“And in that time, none of you thought to tell me that I’m gay? To help a guy out?”
If he weren’t holding the coffeee, Chase knows he’d be doing his classic disappointed hands-on-hips mom pose. Instead, he just looks rather frustrated.
Chase settles back into his chair, not feeling sorry in the slightest. Cameron seems vaguely apologetic, but she doesn’t say anything, while Foreman just stares, exasperated.
“I’ve taught you so well,” House fake-sobs to three of them, pressing the back of his hand dramatically to his forehead.
Wilson sighs, clearly deciding that they’re a lost cause as he places down the larger cup of coffee in front of House. Chase watches with a mixture of fascination and horror at the utter sappiness in House’s face at that; it’s almost as startling an image as the cafeteria incident that started the bet in the first place.
"Thanks. Love you," House purrs, very clearly enjoying his fellow’s discomfort.
Wilson murmurs a quiet love you too, before turning around to presumably go do his rounds. House reaches out to grab his ass as he leaves, but he's batted away without Wilson even looking.
"Don't try it," he scolds, but Chase notices the fond look that sparkles in his eye. Then he’s gone, leaving House to level his smug look at his fellows.
“Anything else you guys want to know? Because there’s a lot of fun details I could share-”
“Nope! No, no thank you,” Foreman quickly interrupts, shaking his head and frowning emphatically. “We have a case to get to. 15-year-old girl displaying symptoms of ataxia, seizures, and abnormal eye movements…”
They quickly get back into the swing of things, bouncing ideas off of each other and picking each one apart. It’s the same routine as always, yet Chase feels like something has shifted ever-so-slightly. It might be the fact that House looks really, truly happy for the first time in- well, as long as he’s known him, to be honest; it’ll take some getting used to, that’s for sure.
Regardless, he’s glad the two of them are together now; he’s certain they’ll be good for each other - plus, Wilson is probably the only person who can stand being alone in the same room as House for long anyways.
And if House starts being a bit less of an asshole than usual, well. He’s glad he knows why.