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"You practically don't leave the apartment anymore," Wilson said. "It's not good for you."
"Is that a medical opinion? Will sitting on the couch too long give me cancer?"
"Let's go out and see a movie or something."
"Feel free to leave anytime you like," House said, pouring another glass of scotch.
"And you're drinking too much. How many vicodin did you take today anyway?"
"Enough that my leg doesn't hurt at the moment, not enough not to be pissed off at that question. You want a refill?"
"Sure." Wilson held out his glass. "You could at least get a bigger television. You can get ESPN on HDTV now."
"I get enough ultra-close-ups of people's pores at work, thanks."
"Come on. Don't you get bored at all just sitting here?"
"When I have this scintillating conversation to keep me entertained?"
"And when I'm not around?"
"There's always porn on the Internet," House said.
"Outside this apartment there are real women who might even be willing to have sex with you."
"They pretty much want you to talk to them first," House said. "You're the only person I can tolerate for that long."
"You mean I'm the only person who can tolerate you for that long," Wilson said.
"You could give it a try. I'd help you write a profile for match.com."
House rolled his eyes. "I'd rather just have sex with you."
"I'm married," Wilson said, tipping back his glass.
"That's never stopped you before."
"There is that," House said. "On the other hand, one would assume you're pretty good in bed, given how all your girlfriends seem to get more enthusiastic after the first time they sleep with you."
"I'm very good in bed."
"There you go. Works for me," House said. "Easier than dating."
"Funny, being the last resort isn't that much of a turn-on," Wilson said.
"Yeah, but you're easy."
"That doesn't mean I don't have some standards."
"You do?" House said.
"I mean, I don't just put out at the first request I get."
"I..." Wilson paused. "Well. It depends on the request."
" 'Please have sex with me?' "
Wilson blinked at the ceiling. "Okay." He sat up, put down the glass, and pinned House against the couch.
"Huh," House said, recovering, about an hour later. "Hey, ow."
"Oh, sorry." Wilson shifted so his legs were resting across House's left leg instead.
House got his pill bottle out of the pocket of his discarded pants. "I wasn't seriously asking, by the way."
"And yet you only mention this now."
"You seemed to be having a good time," House said. "I didn't want to be rude."
Wilson grinned broadly and leaned over to get his glass of scotch. "See, I told you I was good."
"Okay, fine, you're good," House muttered.
"Don't push it." House yawned. "And you wanted to go out."
= End =