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House lets Wilson drag him along to the oncology department's impromptu post-New-Year's party mainly because he suspects, correctly, that the nurse-of-the-moment is going to be there. Wilson makes out with her in the hallway leading to the restrooms: hidden from most of the room, clear line of sight to the corner booth where House is nursing his whiskey and beer. There was another fight with Julie yesterday over something or other, and Wilson's making out with Chandra either to forget or get back at her, House isn't really sure which.
And doesn't care, not while he can watch Wilson's mouth travel over her skin, gorgeous caramel color flushing dark where his lips trail up her neck, along her jawline, while his leg presses between her thighs. He's wearing jeans, old and snug, and her hands are in the back pockets, pulling them even tighter together.
House takes another drink of his beer. Wilson gets her pants unzipped and his fingers slip inside. She's already rocking against him, and now she gives a little all-over shudder and lets her head tip back against the wall, dark hair spilling off her shoulders. Wilson undoes a couple more buttons on her blouse. She's got beautiful small breasts, firm, and she's wearing a lace push-up bra that gives them some extra oomph, nipples barely covered. She's close, judging by the panting breaths that make them rise and fall.
Afterwards, Wilson comes and sits down with him, mouth red and wet, pupils blown. He's still hard. This would be a pretty inconvenient place to come, and anyway he likes getting people off even more than he likes getting off himself. So instead he sprawls back into the deep upholstery and steals some of House's beer, grinning somewhere between smug and sheepish, the kind of expression that would be maddening on anyone else. On him it's endearing, which is even more maddening in its way, because House doesn't find anything endearing normally.
It would be almost trivially easy to have him. Get him into a cab, take him home, spread him out on the couch and grope him a couple times through those jeans, and House is pretty sure Wilson would roll over for him. If there's anything Wilson can't resist even under normal circumstances, it's someone who wants him.
The trick would be keeping him. House isn't willing to bet it all on the off chance that he can succeed where so many others have failed. Time is on his side. Eventually Wilson's got to run out of steam. Sex drive falls off around fifty, he'll lose his hair or it'll go grey, he'll get wrinkles, whatever. Whoever gets him when it happens, that's who's going to be keeping him for the rest of his life. For now, House is fine with enjoying the view.
It all goes to hell on Valentine's Day. Julie found out about Chandra. Wilson's been thrown out of the house, he's depressed, and at dinner he drinks more than a bottle of wine and falls dead asleep in the cab. House can't remember what hotel he's staying at, and whatever slurred gibberish Wilson is saying makes no sense to him, so he just takes him home and manages to wake him up enough to stagger in and out of the elevator and fall onto the couch.
House wakes up a couple hours later and finds Wilson standing over the bed. Oh shit
, is all he has time to think, and then Wilson's kissing him. It's nothing like he's imagined, Wilson pinning him down against the bed in rough silence, stronger than he realized and hungrier. House is going to say something, but Wilson cuts him off with a hand over his mouth and says against his ear, "Don't tell me to stop."
Wilson strips him just enough, no finesse, no generosity, and pops the lid on the hand cream with his teeth. He's clumsy and impatient, and he doesn't do any of the right things. He rolls House over onto his good side without asking if his leg's okay. There are condoms in the night table too, where he got the cream, and he leaves them there. He's not gentle pushing in, and it's messy and painful and spectacular.
He falls asleep right away afterwards, curled around House's back with his thigh resting between House's legs and his arm draped over his chest. It's like being cuddled by a boa constrictor, and House has always hated being clung to after sex. At the moment he's too busy coming down from the biggest high of his life to object, and before he can get around to it he falls asleep himself.
Wilson wakes up first in the morning and makes the kind of coffee you'd expect from a guy who's never lived for more than a month without a woman. House throws it out while he's in the bathroom and makes a fresh pot. About five minutes after he puts it on, Wilson comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel and his hair wildly fluffy from towel-drying. The coffee scorches while they're having sex again and ends up being terrible anyway.
Six months later House accidentally comes across Wilson flirting with one of the women in accounts receivable. He turns right around and limps away as quickly as he can, before they see him. It's been a respectable run—Wilson's second wife Pia managed to keep him for two years, but only because she was willfully blind. Other than that, there was Jennifer, who lasted seven months, but Wilson had an unusually heavy caseload at the time. The calculations don't make the familiar taste of misery any more palatable.
House can't really keep up with Wilson himself. He's usually only good for one round, though he can make it last, and his leg can't handle anything too energetic. Wilson always finds creative ways to get around it, but it's not exactly a surprise that he's getting bored. Strangely, they have particularly good sex that night, and House lies awake afterwards chewing vicodin. He'd made a lot of clever remarks at Pia's expense. Karma sucks.
He waits for the rest of the signs to appear. Wilson will start working late, meeting friends for dinner, skipping their lunch dates, going to conferences. Except none of it happens, and he's left wondering when exactly the next shoe is going to drop, or if Wilson's just gotten better at hiding it.
The hospital throws a staff party on Fourth of July. House doesn't put up too much of a fight when Wilson drags him along. He hates himself for it, because the real reason is he doesn't want Wilson to have a chance to make time with the accountant.
What he's not expecting is for Wilson to bring her over and introduce her. Her name is Sue, and she's got gorgeous breasts and curvy hips that look like they'd fit just right in the palm of Wilson's hand. House wants to be vicious to her, but he can't bear to be that pathetic in public, so instead he just leers and makes off-color remarks. Infuriatingly, she doesn't get offended, just laughs at him and bounces off, and Wilson beams at him like he's done something right.
Three days later, Wilson says casually at breakfast, "You remember Sue?" and House thinks, here it is
"Doesn't ring a bell," he says, because he's not interested in making this easy.
"Blonde, breasts, hips," Wilson supplies.
"Well, that certainly narrows it down, but," House says.
"Oh, stop it, you know exactly who I'm talking about," Wilson says, and then pauses. "Wait a second. Are you jealous?" He's already starting on a slow, insufferable grin. "You are jealous."
"No, I'm looking forward to getting dumped for blonde, breasts, hips." House says, giving up. "I don't even get alimony out of the deal."
"You idiot. I'm not going to dump you."
"No, that's true. If you stick to the usual pattern, you'll just cheat like crazy until I get fed up with it and dump you," House says. "Not actually more fun. At least, for me. Possibly it's more fun for you, given the lure of the forbidden."
"I was hoping to try something a little different this time around," Wilson says.
He brings Sue home with him that evening and demonstrates once again his unerring good taste in women. Now House isn't busy hating her, he can fully appreciate both the curves and the sense of humor, not to mention what seems to be an almost complete lack of inhibition. Watching Wilson slide into her is almost unbearably hot, and she is happy to let him play with the really very nice breasts while Wilson fucks her. She kisses them both goodnight before she goes down to the cab.
They stand together watching her go. "Will you stop that?" House says, limping back to bed.
Wilson trails after him. "You've got to admit—"
"Yes, yes, it was a great idea. Stop it. I only like smugness when it's mine."
"So are you going to get over being afraid I'm going to cheat on you now?"
"You already have cheated on me," House says, eyeing the bed. It's a horrible mess, and sticky too. He shrugs and climbs in anyway. Wilson's too much a gentleman to complain about being stuck with the wet spot.
"Hang on a second, that was not cheating—"
"I'm not talking about tonight," House says. "Not that Sue isn't a bright young thing, but I don't believe you got her to sign on for a three-way without doing her first." Wilson shuts up very fast. "That's okay," House adds, magnanimous from the moral high ground. "It's sweet, actually, you seducing gorgeous young women to lure them home for my benefit. Kind of like a cat bringing home its prey."
"Very funny." Wilson says, but he relaxes again and climbs into bed. "Ugh—we should change the sheets."
"Tomorrow," House says, rolling onto his side to sleep. Wilson wraps around him as usual. House hasn't bothered to break him of the cuddling because he figured it wasn't going to last. Now it turns out he's gotten used to it.
- End -