Truce
Title: Truce
Author: Alanwolfmoon
Prompt: 72: Prank wars gone bad
Pairing: House/Wilson
Category: Slash, hurt comfort
Rating/Warnings: not much
Words: 602
Summary: see prompt
Disclaimer: NOT MINE!
Extra Note: I'm leaving on vacation the day posting opens, so I'm posting the two stories I've finished so far early because I don't know when I'll have internet access next, and it might not be during the posting period.
T
Wilson turned around, after picking up his paper.
The door had swung shut, and he had to juggle his coffee and the paper to turn the knob.
He frowned.
It was locked.
Great, another one of House’s pranks, no doubt.
Wilson smiled a little, at the memory of his last retaliation, a spectacularly tie-dyed load of laundry-though Wilson had pulled out all of House’s favorite shirts before adding the eye, preventing a possible homicide from occurring.
Wilson set his paper down, and reached up for the spare key House would have known he’d be able to get to-House wasn’t going to lock him outside in his boxers in the middle of a March that was significantly more lion than lamb.
Then he frowned.
The spare key wasn’t there.
Wilson realized with a jolt that he’d used the spare key three nights ago when he couldn’t find his own, and left it inside.
House of course wouldn’t have known that, at all.
Crap!
And it was the outer door that was locked, so Wilson couldn’t even go knock on their neighbors’ doors.
So he was stuck outside in rainy, forty degree weather, in his boxers and nightshirt.
House grinned, whistling, as he got out of his car.
Wilson would no doubt have planned some retaliation for the lock out-
He frowned.
Wilson was sitting on the to step, huddled under the doorway.
Then he laughed. Wilson was trying to make him feel gui.... he stopped.
Wilson’s lips were blue.
House slowly limped up the steps, and sat, gently brushing some of his friend’s chestnut hair out of the younger doctor’s face.
Both the hair and the face were damp with rain, and Wilson’s clothes were soaked.
He stirred a little, at House’s touch, and opened his eyes.
Slowly, he sat up, turned himself, and rested against House’s side, shivering, eyes half closed.
House hurriedly got up, and tried to unlock the door, but something was wrong, his key wouldn’t go in.
“Sorry,” mumbled Wilson, sluggishly, “I tried to pick it with a stick.... it broke off inside...”
House pulled off his coat, wrapping it around Wilson’s shoulders, and sat, pulling his friend close.
Wilson smiled a little, resting his head against House’s shoulder.
House was warm, and so was the coat.
It was going to be okay now.
He closed his eyes.
He didn’t open them to House’s shaking.
He did open them a while later, when someone pulled his pants off.
House was there, he was on the livingroom floor, just inside the apartment.
“Hmm.... why’re you taking my clothes off?”
The only response he got was a hug.
He closed his eyes again, as House gently stroked his hair.
He coughed, a little, as a thick, warm blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, the one from House’s bedroom.
He managed to get his feet under himself as House pulled him up, and walk, shakily, to the room the blanket had come from.
House left, and came back a few minutes later with a cup of steaming water that smelled of cinnamon and sugar and honey.
It was almost too sweet, with the honey, but Wilson gulped it down as fast as he could without scalding his tongue and throat.
House slipped into the bed beside him, naked, and Wilson instinctively moved towards him, draping himself over his friend.
House pulled the blanket over both of them, and Wilson closed his eyes again, but this time out of comfort, rather than cold-induced unconsciousness.
“Wilson?” said House, quietly, hours later, as Wilson coughed a little.
“Hmm?”
“Truce?”
Wilson nodded into House’s neck.
“Yeah.”
Author: Alanwolfmoon
Prompt: 72: Prank wars gone bad
Pairing: House/Wilson
Category: Slash, hurt comfort
Rating/Warnings: not much
Words: 602
Summary: see prompt
Disclaimer: NOT MINE!
Extra Note: I'm leaving on vacation the day posting opens, so I'm posting the two stories I've finished so far early because I don't know when I'll have internet access next, and it might not be during the posting period.
T
Wilson turned around, after picking up his paper.
The door had swung shut, and he had to juggle his coffee and the paper to turn the knob.
He frowned.
It was locked.
Great, another one of House’s pranks, no doubt.
Wilson smiled a little, at the memory of his last retaliation, a spectacularly tie-dyed load of laundry-though Wilson had pulled out all of House’s favorite shirts before adding the eye, preventing a possible homicide from occurring.
Wilson set his paper down, and reached up for the spare key House would have known he’d be able to get to-House wasn’t going to lock him outside in his boxers in the middle of a March that was significantly more lion than lamb.
Then he frowned.
The spare key wasn’t there.
Wilson realized with a jolt that he’d used the spare key three nights ago when he couldn’t find his own, and left it inside.
House of course wouldn’t have known that, at all.
Crap!
And it was the outer door that was locked, so Wilson couldn’t even go knock on their neighbors’ doors.
So he was stuck outside in rainy, forty degree weather, in his boxers and nightshirt.
House grinned, whistling, as he got out of his car.
Wilson would no doubt have planned some retaliation for the lock out-
He frowned.
Wilson was sitting on the to step, huddled under the doorway.
Then he laughed. Wilson was trying to make him feel gui.... he stopped.
Wilson’s lips were blue.
House slowly limped up the steps, and sat, gently brushing some of his friend’s chestnut hair out of the younger doctor’s face.
Both the hair and the face were damp with rain, and Wilson’s clothes were soaked.
He stirred a little, at House’s touch, and opened his eyes.
Slowly, he sat up, turned himself, and rested against House’s side, shivering, eyes half closed.
House hurriedly got up, and tried to unlock the door, but something was wrong, his key wouldn’t go in.
“Sorry,” mumbled Wilson, sluggishly, “I tried to pick it with a stick.... it broke off inside...”
House pulled off his coat, wrapping it around Wilson’s shoulders, and sat, pulling his friend close.
Wilson smiled a little, resting his head against House’s shoulder.
House was warm, and so was the coat.
It was going to be okay now.
He closed his eyes.
He didn’t open them to House’s shaking.
He did open them a while later, when someone pulled his pants off.
House was there, he was on the livingroom floor, just inside the apartment.
“Hmm.... why’re you taking my clothes off?”
The only response he got was a hug.
He closed his eyes again, as House gently stroked his hair.
He coughed, a little, as a thick, warm blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, the one from House’s bedroom.
He managed to get his feet under himself as House pulled him up, and walk, shakily, to the room the blanket had come from.
House left, and came back a few minutes later with a cup of steaming water that smelled of cinnamon and sugar and honey.
It was almost too sweet, with the honey, but Wilson gulped it down as fast as he could without scalding his tongue and throat.
House slipped into the bed beside him, naked, and Wilson instinctively moved towards him, draping himself over his friend.
House pulled the blanket over both of them, and Wilson closed his eyes again, but this time out of comfort, rather than cold-induced unconsciousness.
“Wilson?” said House, quietly, hours later, as Wilson coughed a little.
“Hmm?”
“Truce?”
Wilson nodded into House’s neck.
“Yeah.”