Interference (House/Wilson, mild R)
Not that anyone cares, but this was actually written over a month ago (early September), before Permutations, and in retrospect it’s fairly obvious how this idea fed into that one. Also, strangely enough (or not) since I wrote it, not only have I seen at least one clinic fic and one closet fic, but I’ve actually seen all the other places House refers to used as smut locations as well ( deelaundry got the final square on the bingo card). I think I need to post this before it becomes completely overtaken by events *g*.
Title: Interference
By: daasgrrl
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: mild R
Word count: 3,300
Summary: What’s a fanfic writer to do when no-one will co-operate?
Warnings: Too many to list. If you hate it in fic, it’s probably in here. And not even any decent sex to make up for it. Truly, the story from hell.
Beta: Thanks as always to evila_elf for pointing and laughing.
Notes: This came about because I was trying to write something a bit different for karaokegal’s brilliant “Come As You're Not” fic costume party idea. After a couple of attempts at writing fic ‘not in my usual style’, I was rudely confronted with the fact that it was going to be much more difficult than I expected. This, therefore, is essentially a true story. The one thing I did manage was to make it a dialogue-only fic, which is something I don’t think I’ve ever attempted before, but I felt that was really cheating, because the rest is really more of the usual. As for the party, I finally did get a real costume together (be afraid) so I thought I’d post this in pre-party celebration.
Comments/feedback much appreciated.
Interference
House had planned it all, down to the last detail. He knew that right about this time Wilson would be trapped in one of his endless departmental meetings, but he also knew that this particular meeting was one of those drug company presentations where Wilson’s presence was more for show than anything else. He would page Wilson with an urgent summons to Exam Room One, and there he would
Lame.
have his wicked way with… what? Who asked you?
I said, lame. Clinic sex is so last Friday.
What do you mean, last Friday?
That’s when I last…
…last had clinic sex with Wilson. I get it. Very droll. Well excuse me, but I happen to enjoy it. As do you and Wilson, I might add, from what I’ve seen. Anyway, the truly great thing about this idea was no-one could complain that he wasn’t putting in his clinic hours. Or spending his clinic hours putting in. Or something.
No. See, that wasn‘t even funny. Clichéd and pathetic. I refuse.
You can’t refuse. I’m running the show here, and I really want to see if I can do some of this nice, fluffy porn that other people do so well. How hard can it be? And to that end, if I say you’ll have clinic sex with Wilson, you’ll do it.
I’m afraid that all our deity positions are currently taken, but if you leave your résumé with the receptionist...
Will you shut up? House had ordered his last patient off with scribbled instructions to find a department that didn’t exist, for a test which wasn’t necessary, and was busy preparing the room to his satisfaction. Being low on decorating aspirations, this mainly involved making sure that lube and condoms were in handy reach before
stashing them in a drawer, and taking a little rest on the examination table with a copy of People.
You’d rather read than have sex with Wilson? I’m wounded.
It just gets so damn predictable. It’s always the clinic. Or the elevator. Or one of our offices. The hospital has many rooms. You do know that, right? Cuddy’s office. Preferably with Cuddy in it. The morgue. The MRI lab. The cafeteria. Maybe even the parking garage, if you want to get creative about it.
Yes, yes, but there are other issues to consider here. Atmosphere. Privacy. Do you really want to have sex in the cafeteria? Wilson was reaching out to pay the cashier when he felt a hand on his ass, and one glance backwards at House’s overly innocent expression only confirmed his suspicions. “I think I’ll do you right here, Jimmy boy,” House announced brightly. “If you let me have some of those chips, I might even give you a reach-around.” There was a sudden lull in conversation after this last speech, but it seemed to have no effect whatsoever. Wilson sighed in resignation, pocketed the change, and set his tray carefully on the nearest vacant table before reaching for the buckle of his
You‘re kidding me.
No. Belt. Then, after a moment’s thought, he stopped, reached for his unopened packet of chips, and dutifully handed them to House, who
took them without a word of thanks and walked back to his office, stunned by the idiocy that seemed to pass for sense in these parts.
Look, what do you want from me? I get it. You’re bored. You want originality? Fine. Here, have some originality. Gregory House looked out of the force-shielded windows, taking in the raw beauty of the barren Martian landscape with a sullen glare. Happy? He wished he had never signed on as medical advisor to this godforsaken mining colony, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. After Stacy had left him, Earth had seemed too small a place, and he had signed the contract with barely a moment’s hesitation. The promise of the peace and quiet of a barely inhabited planet, excellent money, and a light workload had appealed to him, along with the tiny potential for some new and really interesting disease. It had been wonderfully restful for two months, and now it was just getting tedious. There was still the best part of a year to go, and he’d have to make his own fun during that time. Speaking of which, it was a perfect time to go look for Wilson. The colony tried to maintain a complement of at least five medical personnel at all times, and of all of the other stationed doctors Wilson was the only one he could stand. Actually, if he were honest, when he looked into those dark, soulful eyes, he sometimes felt something that might even be classed as
extreme and unrestrained disgust.
Oh, nice. I assume we’re no longer talking about Wilson here. Because that would just be rude.
Excuse me - did someone page…? Oh, it’s you. Again. Why am I not surprised? This happens every week.
Yeah, you think you’d have wised up by now, Jimmy boy.
But this time you seem to have an actual patient.
She’s not a patient, she’s one of… them.
Them?
You know.
Ah.
Every week, it’s the same thing. I just think it’s about time we stood up for our true selves for a change! Sic semper tyrannis!
Right. You always were the rebel.
James, I’m so glad you turned up. Look, could you tell House that I’m attempting to get the two of you together for a bit of fun, fluffy, no-strings-attached recreational sex, and that he should just shut up and let me get on with it?
Why?
Why what, sweetie? Do you have objections to recreational sex?
I mean, why would you want me to have sex with House? I’m not gay.
Now Jimmy, the lady may be delusional, but you don’t have to join in.
I’ve had wives! Note, plural. And girlfriends. And… other girlfriends. Besides, with… House? Him?
Oh, right, like you’re so much of a catch, Mister Heal-The-Sick, Screw-The-Dying.
Yes, with House. I’ve seen you do it for everyone else, so now you can bloody well do it for me. And none of your angst, either, thank you. I’m really not interested in your opinions at this point.
But House, of all people? He’s so…
Careful there, Jimmy…
Look, right now I’m working from the very simple, very basic premise that you’re blindly in love with House, and you spend most of your day wanting to push him into the nearest closet. Or vice versa. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need it to be original, I just want it to be fun. Like so. House had always had an eye for detail, so Wilson was only mildly surprised when he suddenly stopped mid-stride down the hallway to pull open an unmarked, slightly recessed door that Wilson had never noticed before. The thing which surprised Wilson much more was the hand that subsequently landed in the small of his back, shoving him into the dark space before he could protest. Once they were both inside, he heard rather than saw House’s fingers scrabbling for the light switch, and when the light was finally on, he saw House pull the door the rest of the way closed with a gentle grip on the door plate. There was no handle on the inside of the door, which made a certain amount of sense. No rational person would actually want to shut the door on himself in here. And speaking of rational, he wasn’t entirely reassured by the gleam in House’s eye. “Oh look, we’re in the closet together,” House said. “Nicely symbolic, wouldn’t you say?” Wilson barely had time to pull his thoughts together before House’s mouth was upon his, and one of Wilson’s hands
pushed the door open hurriedly so they could make their escape, I think. You could be right about this, House.
Of course I am.
The whole scenario is… ridiculous.
Wait, are you saying you wouldn’t want to have sex with me?
I… just. No. I’m not saying that, exactly. I’m saying… look, this is an insane conversation. I’m not going to just randomly have sex with House. In a closet, or otherwise.
Could you please just face the fact that you two are pretty damn hot together, and I’d appreciate it a whole lot if you’d just go with it? Just this once. You can go into therapy on your own time. Besides, it’s not a conversation. Or a discussion, or any other word ending in ‘ion’. It’s really very simple. You, House, will screw Wilson. You, Wilson, will screw House. Preferably in extreme and graphic detail. For as long as this fic shall last. Or else.
Or else what?
House… this might be a good time to start shutting up.
The air was chill, but House barely noticed the cold as he stood over the grave of his best friend. Wilson had died a long, lingering and extremely painful death and House had nursed him every ugly step of the way. Now, in the fast-fading light, tears trickled down House’s cheeks as he grasped the razor blade in his left hand, the right hand maintaining its steady grip on the cane. He turned his right arm slightly to expose the criss-crossed flesh of his inner forearm, lifted the hand holding the razor blade and
put it down again
Nice try, House. Momentarily, but all the will to resist had drained out of him and he was powerless against its siren call. Fragments of music drifted through his hollow, aching soul. I hurt myself today / to see if I still feel / I focus on the pain / the only thing that’s real. Again, he lifted the blade, already dull from use, and
Stop it, this is inhumane!
What are you complaining about? You’re already dead! And I had to nurse you! I’m feeling sick just thinking about it.
Slowly and painfully, House!
So? At least you were spared the humiliation. Of course, the real irony is that I use an electric razor.
Now, are you two going to co-operate, or am I going to make House write gushy love poetry to Cameron? Or perhaps a sex change for one of you, complete with a passel of screaming brats? I’ll even let you choose who gets to have them. Or maybe you’d prefer a threesome with Vogler? Vogler grunted in satisfaction at the sight of James Wilson on his hands and knees on the boardroom floor, naked, ass in the air. He slapped the paddle once into his right hand, testing the weight and heft of it. Then he reached for the giant tube of lube on the conference table. House sat helplessly in the corner, bound and gagged, awaiting his turn. Vogler’s hands went to Wilson’s ass, and
No! Please… not that.
Oh, see, much better, James! I do love it when you beg. Just for that, I’ll let you choose a setting. And you can top.
Now, wait a minute. If anyone’s going to be on top of anything, it’s going to be me.
House!
All right, you can take turns, although I’m not sure you deserve it. Can we get on with it now? If you really don’t like the hospital, I’m sure I could manage something else. I’m betting House would say a bedroom is way too conventional, but at least it’s comfortable. I’d highly recommend it. Could I interest you in some light bondage? I do like ties, but that’s up to you. Or I could do you a nice swimming pool perhaps, fringed by palm trees, soft evening breezes? I’d really like this to be a pleasant and enjoyable experience for everyone, but you do insist on being so difficult about it.
There’s got to be some reasonable way out of this...
You’re going to use reason on her? We’re doomed!
House, would you like to see what I can do with you, a hamster, some almond oil, and that nice old lady with the syphilis? Keep talking like that and you’ll find out.
We’ll… all have a almond-scented picnic in the park?
Guess again.
He didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, Ms…
That’s none of your business, sweetie. You can call me Susan, if you like. You may have met my twin sister, Mary? When she strolled into the clinic, all eyes immediately turned towards her. She was tall and slender, with flowing blonde hair, impossibly beautiful. “I’m looking for Doctor House,” she said huskily. Her voice was haunting music in the hush that had followed her arrival. Brenda, usually snappish and irritable at the best of times, was stunned into politeness by her exquisite dignity. “He’s… he’s in one of the exam rooms,” she stammered. “I’ll go fetch him.” “Thank you so much,” the blonde said. “And if you can manage it, I’d like that kind Doctor Wilson as well.”
Susan, be reasonable here.
OK, sorry, never mind. I just got carried away for a moment there.
You keep her talking, I’ll make a run for it and save myself.
House… just wait a minute. She won’t hurt us…
Not unless you piss me off, I won’t. All right, I’m listening. But only because I like the sound of your voice.
Let’s just stop and look at things for a minute here. I’ve known House, for, how long?
You know I can’t answer that. It could be five years, nine years, since college, anything. And I know you’re not going to tell me, so you can stop that right now.
Right. So you want us to have this whole thing when you have absolutely no idea how we met, or even how long we've known each other. Not only that, but if you stop and think about it there’s no evidence at all. I mean, even when I was living with him, he made me sleep on the couch! Besides, if we had… been together, and it was as great as you seem to think it’d be, why wouldn’t we be together right now?
All sorts of good reasons. Maybe it happened a while back, when you were both with other people. And since I don’t know the how and the when, I’ll just make it up. Cuts both ways, you know. Yes, all right, maybe that’ll do. Wilson hadn’t meant for it to happen, that first time. He had still been married to Julie, more or less happily, depending on how much flexibility you allowed in the definition, and House and Stacy were still living together, although only just. House had been in his version of rehab, which involved less in the way of physio and more in the way of painkillers, and as Stacy had taken to spending less and less time around House as a means of self-defense, Wilson had started taking up some of the slack. He’d watch House grit his teeth as he practiced with the new, much-despised cane and surreptitiously monitor House’s Vicodin usage from week to week. And one night, when House had slumped back onto the couch, swearing, Wilson had leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. House had glared at him for a moment, suspicious, and then Wilson had put his hand on House’s
shoulder, bade him a hasty goodnight and left the building. It wasn’t meant to be an idea, it was part of the argument. Could you please stop and listen for just one minute? No writing.
Fine, fine, go ahead.
Look, there’s really nothing concrete to work with. We don’t really act all that close. We don’t even call each other by our first names.
Maybe that’s just a quirk. And House does call you Jimmy sometimes.
All right, but when House looks like he might be, say, attracted to Cameron, or get back with Stacy, I’m OK with that. I even encourage it.
But you spent an awful lot of time whining at both of them about House getting hurt. It makes you look jealous. And let’s not forget the ‘I met someone’ speech.
I was talking about a woman! I was being discreet!
Sure you were, sweetie.
Wait… what speech? The whining, now that was a given.
Shut up, House.
So, is that all you’ve got? Because I’m not convinced. There’s all the smiling, the way you walk together, the way you look at each other, the way you always seem to know what each other is thinking. It really ought to be enough to be getting on with for one little story. I’m sick of all the complicated maneuvering, the trying to get into your heads to make things believable. Just once, I just want the two of you to get together in a nice, angst-free manner, and, you know, do it for me. Now.
Look, I know you might find this hard to believe, but men can just be… really close friends. If you really cared about us, you’d leave us alone. I spend all this time with House, I obviously care about him - isn’t that enough? I just… don’t think of him in that way. Does everything always have to be about sex? Please. Just leave us in peace.
Oh, now don’t look at me like that. That’s cheating. I went to all this trouble to get you both here, and now you’re trying to make me feel guilty? You don’t think you could even manage a little… light groping?
If you think about it, you’ll realize it’s for the best this way. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about justifying any ‘character’ thing to anyone. House and I could just do nice, believable things like we always do - see patients, have lunch, hang out together, talk, that kind of thing.
Sing it, brother Wilson. Hallelujah!
Work with me here, House.
I thought I was.
But that’s so, so… I can’t do that. I couldn’t write it to save my life. It’s hard enough just scaling back to fluffy smut. Look, I’d settle for a kiss. Just one? You could pretend it was platonic if you like. I won’t tell.
I’m sorry, but that’s just the way things are.
A hug? Maybe if you just held hands?
No.
Well, Jimmy, there was that time you…
I meant, in a non-medical sense, obviously.
No.
Oh, I know! Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation! Completely justifiable.
OK, that’s a maybe. But you have to do some decent research for the setup, and no trying to sneak in sex afterwards.
Which of course defeats the entire purpose of the exercise. Well… fine. Great. Be like that, then. I should have known better than to try and have a bit of simple, harmless fun with the two of you. If you would both stop being so damn complicated and screwed up everything would be so much easier for everyone. And by everyone, I mean me.
But that’s why you like us, Susan.
I know, I know. Have it your way. I give up. I’m leaving. Are you happy? No fluff. No porn. No fluffy porn. Maybe if I gave Wilson a decent backstory, threw in some sexuality angst, explored House’s demons a little…
It’s an art with you, Jimmy, did you know that?
Why, thank you. I told you I’d handle it.
You think she’s really gone?
Well, I still have all my clothes on.
For the moment, anyway.
Maybe it was a little cruel. But I’m sick of being watched all the time.
I wouldn’t have minded. I just wanted to see how long she’d hold out.
Yes, but you also think having sex on clinic duty with a waiting room full of patients is a good idea.
Speaking of which, I’ve still got the lube here. I’d just finished stashing it away.
It does seem a shame to waste it.
So hurry up and get your ass over here. But get the door first. And the blinds. And if you look in the cupboard, I think we’ve still got the handcuffs from last Friday.