A Little Bit of Leverage - Oneshot [Wilson/Everyone]
Title: A Little Bit of Leverage
Author: skylilies
Pairing: Wilson/Everyone
Fandom: House, M.D.
Word Count: 821
Genre: crack?
Rating: r
Warning: implied sexual situations, cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just my interpretations of them.
Teaser: In which Wilson seduces all three of House's fellows and House is a petulant child.
Notes: lmfao, I don't even know. Very vaguely inspired by Wilson's satisfaction that the patient in 'Mirror Mirror' sees him as the dominant person in the House/Wilson dynamic.
strike one.
Wilson holds the x-ray up to the light, and then he says something that makes Eric almost positive he must have heard it wrong.
“Are you,” Eric starts, hedging on the words. He knows his boss is fucked up but he hasn’t drawn conclusions about Wilson yet. “flirting with me?”
The thought of Wilson, tie askew and pants unbuttoned jumps unbidden to Eric’s mind. Damn it, he swears, and thinks of the blonde LPN and the new patient and anyone other than Wilson because there is something very wrong, and very distressing, about that image. He starts to wonder why House sent him down to the Oncology department in the first place.
“I don’t think it’s cancer,” Wilson replies, and smiles at him.
As he’s leaving Eric’s apartment the next morning Wilson grins, cherubic under the fluorescent lights. Eric is late to the hospital and has his coffee extra strong, extra black. House makes a joke about black coffee, not his absence, and Eric breathes easier.
strike two.
Wilson is a serial dater, a serial cheater, drowning in the affection of others the way Robert’s mother drowned herself in alcohol. For some reason, Robert thinks this should make him more cautious around Wilson, but it doesn’t.
When Wilson asks him if he wants to go out for a drink after work, he pauses for a moment so he doesn’t seem too eager and says “Um, sure.” He’d be lying if he didn’t say he was flattered, and Wilson is House’s best (only, but Foreman called it first) friend, so it can’t hurt to be on his good side.
Of course, Robert wasn’t sure this was what the colloquialism meant: stretched out underneath Wilson with only his shirt still on, babbling like he’s at confessional about seminary school and “going down on boys in the bathroom after hours with my lips tinged red from su---shit, Wilson,” “--call me James,” “um.”
When he steps into the room a little early the next morning, Cameron looks up and goes to grab another cup of coffee for him, while Foreman says “look what the cat dragged in,” and Robert has to bite back a blush because he’s wearing the clothes from last night and he can still picture Wilson standing there in socks and boxers with a bashful grin on his face, the sight enough to scare Robert out of his house before he could even find his tie.
“I stayed --late, last night.” He plays with the top button of his shirt. “Helping uh --helping Wilson with files.”
“Wow,” Foreman deadpans, obnoxious as usual. “That was smooth.”
House nearly nails Cameron’s foot with his cane on the way in the door. Robert’s coffee ends up on the floor.
He could really use a vacation day.
strike three.
Allison is just relieved to see Wilson leave the office at a reasonable hour. Their conversations have grown more frequent in the past few weeks, and she’d taken to noticing the furrow in his brow, the way his clothes stay immaculate but worn, and the fact that she never sees his office locked up before she heads home in the evenings.
“I’m staying in a hotel,” he says, when she asks him about it. It’s not really an explanation, she thinks.
So “Oh,” she pauses. “I can drive you there, some time?”
He replies with a variation of thank you, I have a car, but maybe we could get together sometime for a bite to eat? and that’s how they find themselves here, at a table across from each other, and it’s oddly reminiscent of her date with House, minus the facial hair and a good portion of the awkward dinner date manners. Wilson is sweet.
She really did mean the goodbye to just be a kiss on the cheek, but Wilson leans down to say something at the last moment, and he looks so pleasantly shocked by her lips on his that she grabs the lapels of his coat and pushes him inside.
“Well.” is how Wilson sums it up in the morning. Allison kisses him on the cheek and leaves without a backward glance.
“So,” House says, “I hear you’ve screwed my entire diagnostics team.”
James might be imagining things, but he’s pretty sure he hears the petulant ‘stay away from my toys!’ whine in House’s words. He sips his beer. “I believe so.”
“Any infectious diseases I should know about?” A caustic sneer. Yes, he definitely detects a whine.
“Any hookers that didn’t use protection?”
“You’re an idiot.” House draws out his words. “Because if this had been a smart bet, you could have won big money.”
“Oops,” James replies. “Say it.”
“You’re still paying for my drinks.” House looks mildly annoyed.
“Say it.”
“I’m your bitch.” House mutters, and grimaces like he’s trying to figure out the mechanics of strangling Wilson while murdering the bartender while opening his pill bottle.
James smiles.
end game.
Author: skylilies
Pairing: Wilson/Everyone
Fandom: House, M.D.
Word Count: 821
Genre: crack?
Rating: r
Warning: implied sexual situations, cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just my interpretations of them.
Teaser: In which Wilson seduces all three of House's fellows and House is a petulant child.
Notes: lmfao, I don't even know. Very vaguely inspired by Wilson's satisfaction that the patient in 'Mirror Mirror' sees him as the dominant person in the House/Wilson dynamic.
strike one.
Wilson holds the x-ray up to the light, and then he says something that makes Eric almost positive he must have heard it wrong.
“Are you,” Eric starts, hedging on the words. He knows his boss is fucked up but he hasn’t drawn conclusions about Wilson yet. “flirting with me?”
The thought of Wilson, tie askew and pants unbuttoned jumps unbidden to Eric’s mind. Damn it, he swears, and thinks of the blonde LPN and the new patient and anyone other than Wilson because there is something very wrong, and very distressing, about that image. He starts to wonder why House sent him down to the Oncology department in the first place.
“I don’t think it’s cancer,” Wilson replies, and smiles at him.
As he’s leaving Eric’s apartment the next morning Wilson grins, cherubic under the fluorescent lights. Eric is late to the hospital and has his coffee extra strong, extra black. House makes a joke about black coffee, not his absence, and Eric breathes easier.
strike two.
Wilson is a serial dater, a serial cheater, drowning in the affection of others the way Robert’s mother drowned herself in alcohol. For some reason, Robert thinks this should make him more cautious around Wilson, but it doesn’t.
When Wilson asks him if he wants to go out for a drink after work, he pauses for a moment so he doesn’t seem too eager and says “Um, sure.” He’d be lying if he didn’t say he was flattered, and Wilson is House’s best (only, but Foreman called it first) friend, so it can’t hurt to be on his good side.
Of course, Robert wasn’t sure this was what the colloquialism meant: stretched out underneath Wilson with only his shirt still on, babbling like he’s at confessional about seminary school and “going down on boys in the bathroom after hours with my lips tinged red from su---shit, Wilson,” “--call me James,” “um.”
When he steps into the room a little early the next morning, Cameron looks up and goes to grab another cup of coffee for him, while Foreman says “look what the cat dragged in,” and Robert has to bite back a blush because he’s wearing the clothes from last night and he can still picture Wilson standing there in socks and boxers with a bashful grin on his face, the sight enough to scare Robert out of his house before he could even find his tie.
“I stayed --late, last night.” He plays with the top button of his shirt. “Helping uh --helping Wilson with files.”
“Wow,” Foreman deadpans, obnoxious as usual. “That was smooth.”
House nearly nails Cameron’s foot with his cane on the way in the door. Robert’s coffee ends up on the floor.
He could really use a vacation day.
strike three.
Allison is just relieved to see Wilson leave the office at a reasonable hour. Their conversations have grown more frequent in the past few weeks, and she’d taken to noticing the furrow in his brow, the way his clothes stay immaculate but worn, and the fact that she never sees his office locked up before she heads home in the evenings.
“I’m staying in a hotel,” he says, when she asks him about it. It’s not really an explanation, she thinks.
So “Oh,” she pauses. “I can drive you there, some time?”
He replies with a variation of thank you, I have a car, but maybe we could get together sometime for a bite to eat? and that’s how they find themselves here, at a table across from each other, and it’s oddly reminiscent of her date with House, minus the facial hair and a good portion of the awkward dinner date manners. Wilson is sweet.
She really did mean the goodbye to just be a kiss on the cheek, but Wilson leans down to say something at the last moment, and he looks so pleasantly shocked by her lips on his that she grabs the lapels of his coat and pushes him inside.
“Well.” is how Wilson sums it up in the morning. Allison kisses him on the cheek and leaves without a backward glance.
“So,” House says, “I hear you’ve screwed my entire diagnostics team.”
James might be imagining things, but he’s pretty sure he hears the petulant ‘stay away from my toys!’ whine in House’s words. He sips his beer. “I believe so.”
“Any infectious diseases I should know about?” A caustic sneer. Yes, he definitely detects a whine.
“Any hookers that didn’t use protection?”
“You’re an idiot.” House draws out his words. “Because if this had been a smart bet, you could have won big money.”
“Oops,” James replies. “Say it.”
“You’re still paying for my drinks.” House looks mildly annoyed.
“Say it.”
“I’m your bitch.” House mutters, and grimaces like he’s trying to figure out the mechanics of strangling Wilson while murdering the bartender while opening his pill bottle.
James smiles.
end game.