fic: Acceptable Terms
Title: Acceptable Terms
Pairing: H/W
Words: 2,300
Rating: PG-13? Sexual language and making out
Summary: So...why does House ruin all of Wilson’s relationships?
Wilson threw open the door to House’s apartment, looking extremely irate.
House glanced over from his place at the piano, unalarmed by Wilson’s emphatic entrance. “My, you’re all gussied up,” he said, observing Wilson’s new tie and catching a whiff of the expensive cologne Wilson saved for special occasions.
“And do you know why I’m all gussied up?” Wilson demanded, setting his hands on his hips, but he didn’t give House a chance to answer. “I had a date with Janet planned for tonight.” He loosened his tie with a vicious tug. “But when I arrived to pick her up, La Bohème tickets in hand, she told me she didn’t think we were a good idea.”
House played a dissonant chord on the piano and nodded in sympathy. “Women are so fickle,” he consoled.
Wilson nodded once. “Yeah, but here’s the thing-the reason she’s changed her mind? Apparently someone wrote her a letter outlining my history of infidelities and explaining what a cad I am. Can you just believe that?” His eyes narrowed into a blistering glare and he dug out a folded sheet of yellow legal pad paper from his pocket.
“She must really have someone looking out for her,” House said noncommittally.
“This looks suspiciously like your writing, House.” Wilson looked over the list. “And I did not sleep with Anne’s sister.”
“Cousin, whatever. I edited a little,” House conceded. “But all the major points are true.”
“Do you know how I felt when she asked me if it was true?” Wilson pleaded, reading his list of misdeeds with his brows furrowed.
House shrugged unsympathetically. “You could have lied. I’m sure you’re far more compelling than an anonymous tipster. Tell her you have an ex who hates you, tell her your friend likes to play pranks.” He looked at Wilson. “But you didn’t. You told her it was true.”
“Some of us feel guilt when we lie, though I can understand how that’s a foreign concept to you.”
“You never had a problem with it before.” House took a sip from the glass of bourbon sitting on top of the baby grand.
“House!” Wilson cried in anger and frustration, slapping the offending sheet down on the piano hard enough to make the keys rumble. “Why do you always insist on undermining my dates?”
House twisted his face in comical consideration. “Because, with you, dates inevitably lead to marriage, which inevitably leads to divorce, which inevitably leads to you sleeping on my couch. And I’m trying to avoid that.”
“Maybe if you didn’t actively sabotage my marriages, I’d still be in them,” Wilson replied through gritted teeth.
“Oh, that’s rich-you’re blaming me for your failed marriages. Wasn’t me who you cheated on your wives with.”
Wilson looked chagrined, but his resolve returned. “No. I’m just saying if I hadn’t had to put you first every time-”
“That was also your choice,” House reminded him.
“You made me choose, House.”
“And you could have screwed me over-you’ve had lots of practice.”
“Ah, yes, excellent. Do let’s go through that again. Everything I did, I did because I thought it was in your best interest.” He held up a hand. “Maybe I was wrong, but I was trying.”
“Yeah, right-” House started, but Wilson didn’t let him finish.
“I’m not going be distracted by your guilt trips. Why does it bother you if I have a relationship?”
“It doesn’t,” House said plucking out a few notes at seeming random.
“Then why go to such extraordinary measures to prevent it? And don’t give me that couch line,” Wilson warned. House met Wilson’s eyes for a long moment, his eyes inscrutable, and then turned his attention to the music spread before him. If he was reading it, he didn’t play. Wilson sighed heavily. “How long are you going to keep up the pretense?” he finally asked, sounding calm and vaguely curious. He took a seat on the piano bench next to House, facing the opposite direction.
“I’m not in love with you.” House turned the tumbler, rotating it slowly, watching the slosh of amber liquid against crystal.
“I never said you were.”
House picked up the glass and drained the contents. “I’m not!” he said and set the glass down with a thump.
“Okay.” Wilson’s tone was neutral.
“I couldn’t be in love with you, even if I were gay, which I’m not. You’re fussy and bossy and controlling. You have the worst taste in ties. You talk too much about too little. And you have a penis and I’m not gay.”
“You said that already,” Wilson pointed out.
“Well, I’m not.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Wilson soothed, his fingernails white and bloodless where they pressed against the bench.
“You’re the gay one.”
“House.”
“Anyone with French shoes...”
“House,” Wilson repeated, placing a hand on House’s shoulder. House flinched and twisted to look first at it and then at Wilson. Wilson brought the hand up to the side of House’s neck. He leaned in slowly, inch by hesitant inch. House focused on the tartan pattern of Wilson’s tie. Wilson’s lips brushed House’s carefully, just a suggestion of a kiss. He held there for the space of a few heartbeats, not pushing further, but not retreating either-just to make the act undeniable, unable to be explained away or called accident-and then pulled back. Wilson licked his lips and thought he tasted bourbon.
“What was that?” House asked, sounding highly annoyed.
“A kiss.” Now it was Wilson examining the stripes on his tie.
“Good, glad we established that. The next question in our hard-hitting investigative report would be: why?”
Wilson shrugged. “Because you’re not in love with me.”
“You’re not gay.”
“No,” Wilson agreed, his chin dropping in an uncertain nod.
“I don’t want pity.” House shut the cover over the keys.
“This isn’t pity.”
“Feels like pity.”
“It’s not pity!” Wilson said emphatically. “I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. Sorry I forgot to stop and examine my motives first.”
“You never do.” House stood, reaching for his cane. “Oh look! There’s the door-why don’t you see yourself through it?”
“House.” Wilson kept his seat, his dark eyes following House’s nervous circuit around the room.
“No. Really.” House pointed at the door, using his cane to underline the gesture. “Get out.”
“Don’t be-”
“Get out!” House shouted.
“No,” Wilson answered, flinching a little but looking resolute.
“It’s my apartment and I’m telling you to leave.” House’s features were dark and angry.
“What are you going to do?” Wilson demanded. “Call the police? Pick me up and throw me out?”
House looked as though he were considering trying just that, but instead said, “Fine, I’ll leave.”
Now Wilson stood. “Don’t run away from this, House.” He moved to House’s side. House had grabbed his motorcycle jacket and was digging through the pockets, looking for his keys. He looked up as Wilson grabbed his forearm and pulled violently away, twisting to break Wilson’s grasp. The force of the gesture caused House to stumble backwards but, after a precarious moment, he righted himself and shot Wilson a filthy look.
“Careful, I’m a cripple.”
“Among other things,” Wilson agreed, folding his arms across his chest, unrepentant. The look on his face softened, and he said, “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, to upset you. I thought it would make you happy.” He smiled bitterly, amused by his own idiocy.
“That’s why I’m pissed,” House exploded, voice a strangled yelp of pain and frustration. “I don’t want you to kiss me because you think it’ll make me happy.”
Wilson splayed his hands explanatorily. “It wasn’t the only reason.”
“What, boredom? A bet with Chase?” House asked.
“I already told you-I did it because I wanted to.” Wilson was at a loss for further explanation.
“And the reason you wanted to was because you thought it would make me happy,” House finished for him.
“No, I-”
“Have the hots for me?” House demanded incredulously.
Wilson made a face, clearly unhappy at that suggestion. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Not really, no. It was either motivated by desire or pity.” House stared him down. “So whose ego do you want to destroy-yours or mine?” Dropping the jacket, his escape attempt forgotten, House sank down onto the couch. He stretched his long legs out before him, propped up on the coffee table and examined the toes of his sneakers.
Wilson took a more studied seat beside him, hands on his knees. “Why not both? Maybe it was out of pity. And maybe...I liked it.”
House turned a fraction to judge Wilson’s sincerity. “Did you?”
Wilson took a deep breath and held it, considering. “Uh. Yeah.”
House took this in. “It wasn’t much of a kiss,” he said finally.
“Sorry if it didn’t meet your exacting standards. I thought it was nice.” The corners of Wilson’s mouth turned down in offense.
“Maybe if you’re a blushing school girl.” House shrugged.
“Excuse me if I didn’t grab you by the ears and stick my tongue down your throat,” Wilson sniffed.
“Still. You had all the reticence of a blushing-” House was silenced suddenly as Wilson leaned in to kiss him. This time there was no hesitancy, nothing soft or faltering about Wilson’s kiss. He held House’s head still, thumbs stroking along House’s cheekbones. House started and jerked reflexively away, but Wilson held on, pressing all the more insistently. House relaxed a little yielding, and Wilson let him go, breaking the kiss.
“You were saying?” Wilson prompted.
“Hm?” House managed a little muzzily.
“How do I kiss?” Wilson asked, looking at though he were about to laugh, and dipped his head to plant a small reminder at the corner of House’s mouth.
“You’re all right,” House replied grudgingly, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Wilson’s grin widened and he settled back into the couch cushions, tucking his hands behind his head. “What now?”
“You’re kind of fast, aren’t you,” House observed.
“I don’t mean immediately now, I mean in the vague future now.” Wilson looked over at House. “With all this, what’s going to happen?”
“I meant it when I said I’m not in love with you,” House told him, eyes unreadable. “We’re not together, a couple, an item, or boyfriends.” House gave him a pointed look. “There will be no flirting-at least, no more than usual-and absolutely no public displays of affection. You don’t get to reference this to win an argument. Don’t mention it at all, unless you’re prepared to render immediate sexual services.”
Wilson considered this, nonplussed. “But in exchange you’ll quit ruining my dates?”
“No,” House answered quickly. “You don’t date.”
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Me thinks there is a certain inequity in this set up. You expect unswerving fidelity, but we’re not even an item?”
“I said you couldn’t date other people, but hookers are fine, so long as you don’t do a Pretty Woman.”
“Basically our friendship exactly as before, only now I have to permanently give up dating and only sleep with whores.”
“Right,” House confirmed with a nod.
Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, Wilson said, “As tempting as that offer is, I’m going to have to pass.”
House popped his knuckles one by one, making Wilson cringe. “Do you have a counter offer or are all deals off the table?”
“I don’t know,” Wilson said, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. “What concessions are you prepared to make?”
“What do you want? To hold hands and skip down the hallway? A ride on the bike? A blow job?”
Wilson flushed and reflexively pulled at his shirt collar. “I...a little reciprocity would be nice.”
“So I can’t date and can only sleep with hookers? Done and done.” House laced his fingers together over his stomach.
“No, that’s what you’re doing now. I want...” Wilson trailed off again. “Commitment.”
House snorted expressively. “One man-on-man kiss and you’re queer as a three dollar bill.”
“I don’t want to be ignored when you’ve got a new puzzle or dismissed when I’m inconvenient,” Wilson continued, ignoring House’s commentary.
“God, you really are a girl,” House snapped.
“My point exactly,” Wilson answered grimly, sitting forward and propping his elbows on his knees, head bowed.
“Oh for Christ’s sake-I’m sorry,” House gritted out, feeling his stomach knot in something uncomfortably like guilt.
“Yeah. You sure sound sorry.”
House sighed, a sharp, frustrated exhalation. “I’m sorry. I’m not real good with the soul-baring. I’ll try to quit dismissing you. Note the emphasis on try-you know how I am.”
“Unfortunately,” Wilson muttered.
House watched Wilson, his eyes running over the hunched curve of his shoulders. Bracing himself against the back of the couch, he leaned over and kissed the side of Wilson’s exposed neck. Wilson was still a moment, and then turned to meet House’s lips. Wilson allowed him to take the lead, letting House’s tongue flicker over his. House brought a hand to rest against the side of Wilson’s throat, his thumb stroking along Wilson’s pulse. Wilson sighed softly when House pulled away.
“The terms?” House asked softly.
“Accepted,” Wilson breathed. Suddenly he checked his watch. “You know, we could still make La Bohème.”
“I’d rather remove my own-” House caught Wilson’s expression and paused. “La Bohème, my favorite! Nothing like emo kids in period costumes running about on stage.” He leaned in to steal a kiss from the disapproving Wilson. “I’ll go get my jacket.”
Wilson’s expression softened. “Thanks.”
“Who knows, I may find some way to keep myself entertained.”
“Oh, you are not copping a feel during the show,” Wilson warned him.
“I make no promises,” House replied with a wolfish grin.
Pairing: H/W
Words: 2,300
Rating: PG-13? Sexual language and making out
Summary: So...why does House ruin all of Wilson’s relationships?
Wilson threw open the door to House’s apartment, looking extremely irate.
House glanced over from his place at the piano, unalarmed by Wilson’s emphatic entrance. “My, you’re all gussied up,” he said, observing Wilson’s new tie and catching a whiff of the expensive cologne Wilson saved for special occasions.
“And do you know why I’m all gussied up?” Wilson demanded, setting his hands on his hips, but he didn’t give House a chance to answer. “I had a date with Janet planned for tonight.” He loosened his tie with a vicious tug. “But when I arrived to pick her up, La Bohème tickets in hand, she told me she didn’t think we were a good idea.”
House played a dissonant chord on the piano and nodded in sympathy. “Women are so fickle,” he consoled.
Wilson nodded once. “Yeah, but here’s the thing-the reason she’s changed her mind? Apparently someone wrote her a letter outlining my history of infidelities and explaining what a cad I am. Can you just believe that?” His eyes narrowed into a blistering glare and he dug out a folded sheet of yellow legal pad paper from his pocket.
“She must really have someone looking out for her,” House said noncommittally.
“This looks suspiciously like your writing, House.” Wilson looked over the list. “And I did not sleep with Anne’s sister.”
“Cousin, whatever. I edited a little,” House conceded. “But all the major points are true.”
“Do you know how I felt when she asked me if it was true?” Wilson pleaded, reading his list of misdeeds with his brows furrowed.
House shrugged unsympathetically. “You could have lied. I’m sure you’re far more compelling than an anonymous tipster. Tell her you have an ex who hates you, tell her your friend likes to play pranks.” He looked at Wilson. “But you didn’t. You told her it was true.”
“Some of us feel guilt when we lie, though I can understand how that’s a foreign concept to you.”
“You never had a problem with it before.” House took a sip from the glass of bourbon sitting on top of the baby grand.
“House!” Wilson cried in anger and frustration, slapping the offending sheet down on the piano hard enough to make the keys rumble. “Why do you always insist on undermining my dates?”
House twisted his face in comical consideration. “Because, with you, dates inevitably lead to marriage, which inevitably leads to divorce, which inevitably leads to you sleeping on my couch. And I’m trying to avoid that.”
“Maybe if you didn’t actively sabotage my marriages, I’d still be in them,” Wilson replied through gritted teeth.
“Oh, that’s rich-you’re blaming me for your failed marriages. Wasn’t me who you cheated on your wives with.”
Wilson looked chagrined, but his resolve returned. “No. I’m just saying if I hadn’t had to put you first every time-”
“That was also your choice,” House reminded him.
“You made me choose, House.”
“And you could have screwed me over-you’ve had lots of practice.”
“Ah, yes, excellent. Do let’s go through that again. Everything I did, I did because I thought it was in your best interest.” He held up a hand. “Maybe I was wrong, but I was trying.”
“Yeah, right-” House started, but Wilson didn’t let him finish.
“I’m not going be distracted by your guilt trips. Why does it bother you if I have a relationship?”
“It doesn’t,” House said plucking out a few notes at seeming random.
“Then why go to such extraordinary measures to prevent it? And don’t give me that couch line,” Wilson warned. House met Wilson’s eyes for a long moment, his eyes inscrutable, and then turned his attention to the music spread before him. If he was reading it, he didn’t play. Wilson sighed heavily. “How long are you going to keep up the pretense?” he finally asked, sounding calm and vaguely curious. He took a seat on the piano bench next to House, facing the opposite direction.
“I’m not in love with you.” House turned the tumbler, rotating it slowly, watching the slosh of amber liquid against crystal.
“I never said you were.”
House picked up the glass and drained the contents. “I’m not!” he said and set the glass down with a thump.
“Okay.” Wilson’s tone was neutral.
“I couldn’t be in love with you, even if I were gay, which I’m not. You’re fussy and bossy and controlling. You have the worst taste in ties. You talk too much about too little. And you have a penis and I’m not gay.”
“You said that already,” Wilson pointed out.
“Well, I’m not.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Wilson soothed, his fingernails white and bloodless where they pressed against the bench.
“You’re the gay one.”
“House.”
“Anyone with French shoes...”
“House,” Wilson repeated, placing a hand on House’s shoulder. House flinched and twisted to look first at it and then at Wilson. Wilson brought the hand up to the side of House’s neck. He leaned in slowly, inch by hesitant inch. House focused on the tartan pattern of Wilson’s tie. Wilson’s lips brushed House’s carefully, just a suggestion of a kiss. He held there for the space of a few heartbeats, not pushing further, but not retreating either-just to make the act undeniable, unable to be explained away or called accident-and then pulled back. Wilson licked his lips and thought he tasted bourbon.
“What was that?” House asked, sounding highly annoyed.
“A kiss.” Now it was Wilson examining the stripes on his tie.
“Good, glad we established that. The next question in our hard-hitting investigative report would be: why?”
Wilson shrugged. “Because you’re not in love with me.”
“You’re not gay.”
“No,” Wilson agreed, his chin dropping in an uncertain nod.
“I don’t want pity.” House shut the cover over the keys.
“This isn’t pity.”
“Feels like pity.”
“It’s not pity!” Wilson said emphatically. “I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. Sorry I forgot to stop and examine my motives first.”
“You never do.” House stood, reaching for his cane. “Oh look! There’s the door-why don’t you see yourself through it?”
“House.” Wilson kept his seat, his dark eyes following House’s nervous circuit around the room.
“No. Really.” House pointed at the door, using his cane to underline the gesture. “Get out.”
“Don’t be-”
“Get out!” House shouted.
“No,” Wilson answered, flinching a little but looking resolute.
“It’s my apartment and I’m telling you to leave.” House’s features were dark and angry.
“What are you going to do?” Wilson demanded. “Call the police? Pick me up and throw me out?”
House looked as though he were considering trying just that, but instead said, “Fine, I’ll leave.”
Now Wilson stood. “Don’t run away from this, House.” He moved to House’s side. House had grabbed his motorcycle jacket and was digging through the pockets, looking for his keys. He looked up as Wilson grabbed his forearm and pulled violently away, twisting to break Wilson’s grasp. The force of the gesture caused House to stumble backwards but, after a precarious moment, he righted himself and shot Wilson a filthy look.
“Careful, I’m a cripple.”
“Among other things,” Wilson agreed, folding his arms across his chest, unrepentant. The look on his face softened, and he said, “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, to upset you. I thought it would make you happy.” He smiled bitterly, amused by his own idiocy.
“That’s why I’m pissed,” House exploded, voice a strangled yelp of pain and frustration. “I don’t want you to kiss me because you think it’ll make me happy.”
Wilson splayed his hands explanatorily. “It wasn’t the only reason.”
“What, boredom? A bet with Chase?” House asked.
“I already told you-I did it because I wanted to.” Wilson was at a loss for further explanation.
“And the reason you wanted to was because you thought it would make me happy,” House finished for him.
“No, I-”
“Have the hots for me?” House demanded incredulously.
Wilson made a face, clearly unhappy at that suggestion. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Not really, no. It was either motivated by desire or pity.” House stared him down. “So whose ego do you want to destroy-yours or mine?” Dropping the jacket, his escape attempt forgotten, House sank down onto the couch. He stretched his long legs out before him, propped up on the coffee table and examined the toes of his sneakers.
Wilson took a more studied seat beside him, hands on his knees. “Why not both? Maybe it was out of pity. And maybe...I liked it.”
House turned a fraction to judge Wilson’s sincerity. “Did you?”
Wilson took a deep breath and held it, considering. “Uh. Yeah.”
House took this in. “It wasn’t much of a kiss,” he said finally.
“Sorry if it didn’t meet your exacting standards. I thought it was nice.” The corners of Wilson’s mouth turned down in offense.
“Maybe if you’re a blushing school girl.” House shrugged.
“Excuse me if I didn’t grab you by the ears and stick my tongue down your throat,” Wilson sniffed.
“Still. You had all the reticence of a blushing-” House was silenced suddenly as Wilson leaned in to kiss him. This time there was no hesitancy, nothing soft or faltering about Wilson’s kiss. He held House’s head still, thumbs stroking along House’s cheekbones. House started and jerked reflexively away, but Wilson held on, pressing all the more insistently. House relaxed a little yielding, and Wilson let him go, breaking the kiss.
“You were saying?” Wilson prompted.
“Hm?” House managed a little muzzily.
“How do I kiss?” Wilson asked, looking at though he were about to laugh, and dipped his head to plant a small reminder at the corner of House’s mouth.
“You’re all right,” House replied grudgingly, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Wilson’s grin widened and he settled back into the couch cushions, tucking his hands behind his head. “What now?”
“You’re kind of fast, aren’t you,” House observed.
“I don’t mean immediately now, I mean in the vague future now.” Wilson looked over at House. “With all this, what’s going to happen?”
“I meant it when I said I’m not in love with you,” House told him, eyes unreadable. “We’re not together, a couple, an item, or boyfriends.” House gave him a pointed look. “There will be no flirting-at least, no more than usual-and absolutely no public displays of affection. You don’t get to reference this to win an argument. Don’t mention it at all, unless you’re prepared to render immediate sexual services.”
Wilson considered this, nonplussed. “But in exchange you’ll quit ruining my dates?”
“No,” House answered quickly. “You don’t date.”
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Me thinks there is a certain inequity in this set up. You expect unswerving fidelity, but we’re not even an item?”
“I said you couldn’t date other people, but hookers are fine, so long as you don’t do a Pretty Woman.”
“Basically our friendship exactly as before, only now I have to permanently give up dating and only sleep with whores.”
“Right,” House confirmed with a nod.
Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, Wilson said, “As tempting as that offer is, I’m going to have to pass.”
House popped his knuckles one by one, making Wilson cringe. “Do you have a counter offer or are all deals off the table?”
“I don’t know,” Wilson said, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. “What concessions are you prepared to make?”
“What do you want? To hold hands and skip down the hallway? A ride on the bike? A blow job?”
Wilson flushed and reflexively pulled at his shirt collar. “I...a little reciprocity would be nice.”
“So I can’t date and can only sleep with hookers? Done and done.” House laced his fingers together over his stomach.
“No, that’s what you’re doing now. I want...” Wilson trailed off again. “Commitment.”
House snorted expressively. “One man-on-man kiss and you’re queer as a three dollar bill.”
“I don’t want to be ignored when you’ve got a new puzzle or dismissed when I’m inconvenient,” Wilson continued, ignoring House’s commentary.
“God, you really are a girl,” House snapped.
“My point exactly,” Wilson answered grimly, sitting forward and propping his elbows on his knees, head bowed.
“Oh for Christ’s sake-I’m sorry,” House gritted out, feeling his stomach knot in something uncomfortably like guilt.
“Yeah. You sure sound sorry.”
House sighed, a sharp, frustrated exhalation. “I’m sorry. I’m not real good with the soul-baring. I’ll try to quit dismissing you. Note the emphasis on try-you know how I am.”
“Unfortunately,” Wilson muttered.
House watched Wilson, his eyes running over the hunched curve of his shoulders. Bracing himself against the back of the couch, he leaned over and kissed the side of Wilson’s exposed neck. Wilson was still a moment, and then turned to meet House’s lips. Wilson allowed him to take the lead, letting House’s tongue flicker over his. House brought a hand to rest against the side of Wilson’s throat, his thumb stroking along Wilson’s pulse. Wilson sighed softly when House pulled away.
“The terms?” House asked softly.
“Accepted,” Wilson breathed. Suddenly he checked his watch. “You know, we could still make La Bohème.”
“I’d rather remove my own-” House caught Wilson’s expression and paused. “La Bohème, my favorite! Nothing like emo kids in period costumes running about on stage.” He leaned in to steal a kiss from the disapproving Wilson. “I’ll go get my jacket.”
Wilson’s expression softened. “Thanks.”
“Who knows, I may find some way to keep myself entertained.”
“Oh, you are not copping a feel during the show,” Wilson warned him.
“I make no promises,” House replied with a wolfish grin.