FIC: "Bar Exam" (part one), Greg House/James Wilson
Title: Bar Exam (part one)
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 053. Trolley
Word Count: 3,215 for this part; 11,282 overall
Rating: PG-13 for this part, NC-17 overall. They got horny, apparently.
Disclaimer: We think David Shore is in cahoots with Jerry Bruckheimer and Dick Wolf as far as keeping us away from actually owning anything.
Authors' Notes: They kept talking, hence the length. Sorry if we bastardized the bar; neither of us has ever been. Thanks, as always, to sarcasticsra for the beta. She informed us we should clarify what TMJ is. Essentially, it’s stiffness and soreness of the jaw, coinciding with facial pain, ringing of the ears, and dizziness. In other words, not fun.
…and the fic is two parts because it wouldn’t fit in a single post.
When Cuddy had sent both House and Wilson to a convention on new pharmaceuticals in San Francisco, neither man had really been surprised; there were new chemotherapy-related drugs just coming onto the market that Wilson really needed to know more about, and House had been a particularly sharp thorn in her side over the last week thanks to a lapse in "interesting" cases. Throwing him to the wolves-or rather, the boredom-was the best solution she could come up with, or so she claimed, and Wilson didn't seem to be complaining. In fact, he seemed kind of happy about it, which probably wouldn't have bothered House were the conference remotely relevant.
Which, really, was why he'd decided they needed to go to a bar after the first day's festivities. Because he'd been bored all day, and toasting the brain cells that had committed cognitive seppuku over the last eight hours seemed like an excellent idea. And if he could maybe disturb Wilson just a little bit, well, all the better.
The Castro District was, obviously, the only logical place to find a bar-never mind the one downstairs, or down the street. No, they could take a taxi over to the district-there was no way he was walking that many hills-and Wilson could pay for it; after all, he'd shot down all suggestions to cut out of seminars early, claiming that some doctors actually wanted to know what the new medications on the market were. House figured he could just read up on it later, and Wilson could do the same, but the suggestion hadn't gone over too well.
Which brought him to the here-and-now, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, bouncing the end of his cane on the carpet between his feet. "Let's go do something."
Wilson eyed him as he loosened his tie. "Such as?"
He shrugged, stilling his cane. "There are some good bars in this city."
"We've been out of seminars for-" Wilson glanced at the clock. "-fifteen minutes, and you want to go drink?"
"I've wanted to go drink for the last five hours," House grumbled. "It's mind-numbing."
"Ah, yes. The age-old strategy of covering mind-numbing lectures with mind-numbing beverages." Wilson tossed his tie over the back of a chair.
House stood. "You don't have to come with."
"And what? Trade in your witty commentary for an HBO series we'll rent anyway?"
"How can you possibly pick between the two?"
"Tough decision, I know. Requires careful deliberation."
He crossed over to stand behind Wilson. "And the choice is…"
Wilson glanced behind him and then walked to open the door. "What bar?" he asked, gesturing widely to the hallway.
"None around here. Castro District."
"Never heard of it."
"Doesn't surprise me. You and that closet-case thing you had going would've blocked it out." House followed him over to the door.
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "I now have the distinct feeling I should be frightened."
"Only if gays and lesbians are suddenly scary-though I think you'll be offended at the failure of women to hit on you."
"You want us to go to the-" He lowered his voice. "Gay district?"
"You realize we're in San Francisco, home of gay pride, right?" House didn't bother to similarly lower his voice. "Though if you want to be stuck with the boring pharmacy reps, you could just go to the bar downstairs instead. Plenty of non-scary women there."
"I'm not afraid of lesbians," Wilson retorted, as though it was actually a good comeback. He closed the door behind them. "I'm just afraid for the safety of any man who hits on you before realizing you come complete with a weapon."
"Please. I don't have a problem with anyone hitting on me." House checked his pocket for his key card.
"No, because you could probably make the average gay man cry."
"I'm hurt. You think it's only gay men I can make cry? I made a straight one stroke out," he countered.
"You take entirely too much pride in that fact," Wilson said, leading them down the hallway.
"And you give me entirely too little credit. We'll have to catch a taxi."
"No trolleys? We are in San Francisco, you know."
"Yet somehow I don't like the idea of being crammed in with who knows how many people who haven't bothered to shower."
"Wherever is your sense of adventure?"
"It's busy getting you to the Castro District."
He rolled his eyes and punched the elevator button. "You're trying to horrify me, aren't you?"
House shook his head. "Too busy trying to figure out how you're bi and yet somewhat biased against gays."
"I'm not biased." He shrugged slightly. "I've just never participated in the full gay experience."
"You're a little biased, but I can see how marriage isn't conducive to gay bars."
He smiled crookedly. "And really, what would you say if I went all by myself?"
That idea called up a wave of usually-suppressed possessiveness. "If you came back alone, I wouldn't be too pissed off."
"And if I didn't?"
He glanced down the empty hall and slid an arm around Wilson's waist. "More than a little pissed."
Wilson smirked somewhat triumphantly as the elevator chimed. "And I'm the biased one."
"Ah, but I freely admit to my dislike of sharing," House pointed out as they stepped on.
"Ah, of course. And thus, going to a gay bar is a brilliant idea." He pushed the button for the first floor. "Your logic, as always, astounds me."
"Going with you ensures you don't leave with anyone else, and you get-how'd you put it? The 'full gay experience'."
Wilson snorted. "How fortunate I have you as my guide."
"You're one of the privileged few," he returned and, as the door opened at the second floor to admit another passenger, took a half-step away from Wilson.
He arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I want to know about the other or others."
House snorted at him. "Jealous, Jimmy?"
"No more than you were a moment ago."
"Ah, but yours are possible future. Mine are past."
"How do you know I don't have any past…instances?" The elevator arrived, and the stranger stepped out of the car.
"I don't, but given all the girlfriends I know about, it's a good bet." House left the elevator first, Wilson close behind.
He smirked. "So I was interested in theory until I met you? Confident."
"Or you tried to deny you were interested in theory. Either works for me."
"Either way," he returned, "it makes you the first in practice. If, of course, it's true."
"Of course, it might not be. Won't know unless you tell me."
Wilson smirked and held the front door of the hotel open for House. "And ruin the mystery? Where's the fun in that?"
He considered reminding Wilson that he was perfectly capable of opening doors for himself, but decided arguing over it wasn't a great idea. "Then I'll keep assuming I'm first."
"You do that."
"And your lack of denial implies I'm right," he continued, hailing a cab.
"Or that I don't want to crush your confidence by revealing otherwise."
"Since when have you been worried about crushing my confidence?" A yellow cab pulled over, and House opened one of the back doors, sliding in.
Wilson smirked. "Since I have to put up with your for the next several days, it's a special case."
"Yeah, as opposed to, you know, living together?" House raised an eyebrow.
"A hotel room is a much smaller space, in case you haven't noticed."
"So when we get home, you'll go back to your attempts at crushing my ego."
"Hate to interrupt," the cabbie interjected, "but where're ya going?"
"The Bar on Castro," House told him and looked over at Wilson. "Unless you're worried about getting hit on."
"I'm not," Wilson told him sharply, "because I know you'll do physical harm to any man who tries."
"And you claimed you're not biased," House muttered as the cabbie pulled away from the curb. "Though you're also right. Same would go for women, though."
"And anything in between, as well."
"Unless they back off fast. Then they're safe."
Wilson chuckled. "Won't stop you from glaring daggers into their back, I'm sure."
"Which are coincidentally a lot less harmful than, say, my cane." He was rethinking the gay bar plan, since Wilson would be hit on and then he'd probably get annoyed while Wilson got smug. Of course, he'd probably get laid in the end anyway, so not too big a deal.
He smirked. "But pointier."
"Much pointier, and they probably feel them just as much." He shrugged. "You'd wonder what had happened if I stopped being territorial, anyway."
Wilson feigned shock. "You? Stop? You couldn't stop being territorial for five minutes, let alone an undecided length of time.
"When other people stop hitting on you, I'll back off. Some. Maybe."
"So…never?"
House smirked at him. "Like I said, you'd wonder what had happened."
"And then, you'd cheat on me, because I'd have obviously become fat, bald, and pock-marked."
He shifted the smirk into a halfhearted glare. "The odds of me cheating on you are lower than the territoriality lessening."
"Even if I let myself go?"
"Which you won't, because you're stuck with me as your doctor if it causes anything stupid."
Wilson snorted and dropped the playful grin he'd been sporting. "House, I think the nurses would sabotage my life if I actually did 'let myself go.'"
He snorted back. "You're more worried about the nurses than my reaction? Shows where I stand."
"You'd yell. They'd put Ex-Lax in my coffee."
"Low blow on their end. Be effective, though."
He arched an eyebrow. "Have you met the nurses? There is no blow too low for them."
"Especially your nurses. They're evil personified." They also liked to hit on Wilson, especially if House wasn't around.
"Only because you don't have nurses of your own to do your bidding."
"If I did, they would be less evil than yours." Were they actually arguing this? True, though; Wilson's nurses administered chemo, which was necessary but really nasty stuff.
"Until you trained yours properly. Then, it would be the Axis and Allied powers, enacted right in the hospital."
"Fortunately, I don't have enough patients to need nurses for my department."
He smirked. "Very fortunately," he agreed.
The cab pulled over in front of a row of solidly built stores and restaurants, interspersed with a few bars, and the driver turned in his seat to tell them the total. “Eleven forty.”
"He'll get it," House told the guy, climbing out of the car.
Wilson frowned but did, indeed, pony up the fare, and shot House an irked glance as he shut the door. "I'm not a free ride," he informed him blandly.
House snickered. "No, but you're a good one."
"You are just so witty." Wilson glanced around. "So, the bar?"
"You also earn a hell of a lot more than I do." He gestured to one of the buildings. "And The Bar."
"Ah, I forgot. My alimony does nothing to level the playing field." Wilson paused as he looked at the building being gestured at. "It's called The Bar?"
"The Bar on Castro, actually."
Wilson smirked. "Evokes interesting mental images of Fidel," he noted, and started wandering in the direction of the bar.
House followed him and glared at a guy his age who was definitely checking out Wilson's ass. It was going to be a long night. Why he’d ever thought this was a good idea, he couldn't remember.
"So, dare I ask if you've been here before?" Wilson questioned as he arrived at the doors to The Bar, casting a glance at House behind him.
"Once. Long time ago," House replied. "And by 'long', I mean 'when you were pre-med'."
"You make yourself out to be so old and wilted," Wilson commented as he opened the door and braved the insides.
"While I may be old, I resent the wilted implication." He followed Wilson inside, keeping close to ward off the less self-confident.
Wilson glanced around the bar for a long moment, as though he was afraid the floor would suddenly open up and swallow him whole in a sexual but entirely unpleasing way. After nothing jumped out to spook him, he nodded to a table up against the wall. "Over there?"
"Easier to keep people from groping you than the bar would be." House smirked at his discomfiture.
"I'd like to see you get on a stool," Wilson retorted tensely, heading for the table.
"Spoilsport. Getting off would be the issue, not on. And relax." He rolled his eyes at Wilson's obvious nerves. "I'll protect you from the scary other people."
"I'm more afraid of what you'll do to them than what they'll do to me," Wilson replied as he sunk into a chair. "I'm fine."
House considered for a moment, then took the chair next to Wilson. "Sure, you're fine, just about to jump out of your skin-which would be an interesting sight-if anyone else touches you."
"They're making skin-jumping into an Olympic event, actually."
"Need the practice so you can compete, then."
"Good you brought me here. I did always want an Olympic gold."
"You didn't have to come," he pointed out. "Could've stayed in the hotel bar."
Wilson shook his head. "And miss spring training? For shame."
"Using all these men for your own benefit. How typically…male."
He grinned. "I had to be typical in something. May as well have been this."
"Using people? It's a useful skill." House signaled to a server. "Though you do get more practice than people think."
"Is it using people when they enjoy being used? I never did understand the logistics of that."
"You always make them think they're not being used. Don't know why you bother."
"I like to be inclusive, I suppose."
"Results end up the same." The guy-younger than Chase, House guessed-he'd signaled approached the table, his eyes sliding right past House to rest appreciatively on Wilson.
"What can I get you guys?"
Wilson caught his gaze and smiled tightly. "I'll have a beer," he decided.
"Anything in particular?" The kid gave Wilson a smile that would turn Cameron into a puddle.
"Sam Adams?" he decided with a half-shrug, and fidgeted ever-so-slightly.
"Tap or bottle?" And did that question really require that angling of his hip?
"Tap, two," House broke in, giving him a speculative glance regarding how best to kill him.
The kid had the temerity to ignore House, waiting on Wilson's response.
"Tap," Wilson said, glancing sideways at House. "Two, please."
He nodded as House shifted on his chair, edging slightly closer to Wilson. "Anything else?"
"I don't know. House?" The smile Wilson sent House was edging on a smirk; he was apparently not oblivious to the situation.
"Hot wings," House decided, giving the kid an 'If you ignore me again, your shins will be introduced to the wonders of a cherry cane' glare.
Apparently, this one came across clear, because the flirtatious smile disappeared. "I'll get that for you." The kid retreated remarkably fast, given how much he'd seemed to enjoy being around Wilson.
Wilson chuckled and arched an eyebrow at House. "Who's uncomfortable now?"
"Not uncomfortable," he growled. "Territorial."
"Ah. The two are easy to confuse." He said back in his chair a bit, looking almost smug; of course, it was easy to look smug now that the big scary gay server had wandered off. "You wanted to come here."
"True. You are aware you were being hit on by someone younger than any of my employees?"
"The age difference between your employees and I is less than our age difference," Wilson pointed out. "Am I supposed to be bothered?"
"Chase is twenty-six," House countered. "Same difference, and that kid was maybe twenty-two."
"I thought you didn't believe in ageism."
"How old were you when you first had sex? Remind me, but if I remember right, young enough that he could be your kid."
He paused and glanced up at the ceiling, and then frowned. "Thank you for that disturbing thought."
House smirked at him. "You're so welcome. Hope it's appreciated."
"Absolutely," Wilson replied dryly.
Speaking of the server, he was returning bearing their beers. There was one way to make the 'hands off' concept clear to the kid, and House decided to employ it, leaning in enough to kiss Wilson hard.
Wilson jerked slightly, obviously surprised, but then gave up on whatever indignation he was trying to communicate and eased into the kiss.
House smirked against his lips and sat back, feeling rather self-satisfied and figuring the flirting thing-at least from this one-wouldn't happen again. He was right; the glasses were set in front of them, and the guy didn't make eye contact with Wilson when he asked if there was anything else he could get them.
Wilson politely sent the server off before sending House a dubious 'look'. "Territorial indeed."
"Thought we had this conversation." He sipped his beer.
"I just didn't realize the depths to which your territoriality ran."
"Not like I groped you." House reconsidered that statement. "Publicly. Yet."
Wilson rolled his eyes while picking up his beer. "I would stop you from going that far."
"Depends on if I was fending off a harmless waiter, or some guy your age."
"The attractive young waiter is more a threat than a middle-ager?"
"The middle-ager would be more aggressive than the young waiter."
"More aggressive than you?"
House shook his head. "No, because he'd meet my cane before he touched you."
Wilson smirked. "Even if you found him attractive, too?"
"That's assuming he would be attractive. And if you didn't want him to touch you…you'd probably slug him before I could. The reasoning stands, though."
"And here, I thought you'd be more adventurous than that."
"If you wanted him to touch you, it'd be a different story."
"You wouldn't be territorial then? I find that hard to believe."
"I'd still be territorial, just also pissed off," House conceded.
"Ah. No middle ground." Wilson smirked and sipped his beer.
The 'inflating Wilson's ego' thing hadn't been part of the deal. Maybe he should have to deal with the men on his own. House mulled over that possibility while drinking his beer.
The server returned with the hot wings a moment later, setting them, two plates, and a couple napkins on the table. He glanced warily at House before looking to Wilson. "Anything else?"
Wilson arched an eyebrow and looked over to the brooding House. "I'm not sure."
House shook his head and finished the first half of his beer, and the server beat a hasty path toward a presumably safer locale. They divvied up the wings and House didn't break his sudden habit of silence-something that, while sometimes welcome, was more than a little worrisome to Wilson in this mildly intimidating bar. When House had finished off about half his share, he stood-which probably wasn't a good thing.
"Be right back."
Wilson frowned. "Where to?"
House rolled his eyes. "Back to Jersey. Restroom, genius."
Wilson glanced around the bar briefly. "Okay," he decided with the appropriate amount of hesitation.
Continue.
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 053. Trolley
Word Count: 3,215 for this part; 11,282 overall
Rating: PG-13 for this part, NC-17 overall. They got horny, apparently.
Disclaimer: We think David Shore is in cahoots with Jerry Bruckheimer and Dick Wolf as far as keeping us away from actually owning anything.
Authors' Notes: They kept talking, hence the length. Sorry if we bastardized the bar; neither of us has ever been. Thanks, as always, to sarcasticsra for the beta. She informed us we should clarify what TMJ is. Essentially, it’s stiffness and soreness of the jaw, coinciding with facial pain, ringing of the ears, and dizziness. In other words, not fun.
…and the fic is two parts because it wouldn’t fit in a single post.
When Cuddy had sent both House and Wilson to a convention on new pharmaceuticals in San Francisco, neither man had really been surprised; there were new chemotherapy-related drugs just coming onto the market that Wilson really needed to know more about, and House had been a particularly sharp thorn in her side over the last week thanks to a lapse in "interesting" cases. Throwing him to the wolves-or rather, the boredom-was the best solution she could come up with, or so she claimed, and Wilson didn't seem to be complaining. In fact, he seemed kind of happy about it, which probably wouldn't have bothered House were the conference remotely relevant.
Which, really, was why he'd decided they needed to go to a bar after the first day's festivities. Because he'd been bored all day, and toasting the brain cells that had committed cognitive seppuku over the last eight hours seemed like an excellent idea. And if he could maybe disturb Wilson just a little bit, well, all the better.
The Castro District was, obviously, the only logical place to find a bar-never mind the one downstairs, or down the street. No, they could take a taxi over to the district-there was no way he was walking that many hills-and Wilson could pay for it; after all, he'd shot down all suggestions to cut out of seminars early, claiming that some doctors actually wanted to know what the new medications on the market were. House figured he could just read up on it later, and Wilson could do the same, but the suggestion hadn't gone over too well.
Which brought him to the here-and-now, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, bouncing the end of his cane on the carpet between his feet. "Let's go do something."
Wilson eyed him as he loosened his tie. "Such as?"
He shrugged, stilling his cane. "There are some good bars in this city."
"We've been out of seminars for-" Wilson glanced at the clock. "-fifteen minutes, and you want to go drink?"
"I've wanted to go drink for the last five hours," House grumbled. "It's mind-numbing."
"Ah, yes. The age-old strategy of covering mind-numbing lectures with mind-numbing beverages." Wilson tossed his tie over the back of a chair.
House stood. "You don't have to come with."
"And what? Trade in your witty commentary for an HBO series we'll rent anyway?"
"How can you possibly pick between the two?"
"Tough decision, I know. Requires careful deliberation."
He crossed over to stand behind Wilson. "And the choice is…"
Wilson glanced behind him and then walked to open the door. "What bar?" he asked, gesturing widely to the hallway.
"None around here. Castro District."
"Never heard of it."
"Doesn't surprise me. You and that closet-case thing you had going would've blocked it out." House followed him over to the door.
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "I now have the distinct feeling I should be frightened."
"Only if gays and lesbians are suddenly scary-though I think you'll be offended at the failure of women to hit on you."
"You want us to go to the-" He lowered his voice. "Gay district?"
"You realize we're in San Francisco, home of gay pride, right?" House didn't bother to similarly lower his voice. "Though if you want to be stuck with the boring pharmacy reps, you could just go to the bar downstairs instead. Plenty of non-scary women there."
"I'm not afraid of lesbians," Wilson retorted, as though it was actually a good comeback. He closed the door behind them. "I'm just afraid for the safety of any man who hits on you before realizing you come complete with a weapon."
"Please. I don't have a problem with anyone hitting on me." House checked his pocket for his key card.
"No, because you could probably make the average gay man cry."
"I'm hurt. You think it's only gay men I can make cry? I made a straight one stroke out," he countered.
"You take entirely too much pride in that fact," Wilson said, leading them down the hallway.
"And you give me entirely too little credit. We'll have to catch a taxi."
"No trolleys? We are in San Francisco, you know."
"Yet somehow I don't like the idea of being crammed in with who knows how many people who haven't bothered to shower."
"Wherever is your sense of adventure?"
"It's busy getting you to the Castro District."
He rolled his eyes and punched the elevator button. "You're trying to horrify me, aren't you?"
House shook his head. "Too busy trying to figure out how you're bi and yet somewhat biased against gays."
"I'm not biased." He shrugged slightly. "I've just never participated in the full gay experience."
"You're a little biased, but I can see how marriage isn't conducive to gay bars."
He smiled crookedly. "And really, what would you say if I went all by myself?"
That idea called up a wave of usually-suppressed possessiveness. "If you came back alone, I wouldn't be too pissed off."
"And if I didn't?"
He glanced down the empty hall and slid an arm around Wilson's waist. "More than a little pissed."
Wilson smirked somewhat triumphantly as the elevator chimed. "And I'm the biased one."
"Ah, but I freely admit to my dislike of sharing," House pointed out as they stepped on.
"Ah, of course. And thus, going to a gay bar is a brilliant idea." He pushed the button for the first floor. "Your logic, as always, astounds me."
"Going with you ensures you don't leave with anyone else, and you get-how'd you put it? The 'full gay experience'."
Wilson snorted. "How fortunate I have you as my guide."
"You're one of the privileged few," he returned and, as the door opened at the second floor to admit another passenger, took a half-step away from Wilson.
He arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I want to know about the other or others."
House snorted at him. "Jealous, Jimmy?"
"No more than you were a moment ago."
"Ah, but yours are possible future. Mine are past."
"How do you know I don't have any past…instances?" The elevator arrived, and the stranger stepped out of the car.
"I don't, but given all the girlfriends I know about, it's a good bet." House left the elevator first, Wilson close behind.
He smirked. "So I was interested in theory until I met you? Confident."
"Or you tried to deny you were interested in theory. Either works for me."
"Either way," he returned, "it makes you the first in practice. If, of course, it's true."
"Of course, it might not be. Won't know unless you tell me."
Wilson smirked and held the front door of the hotel open for House. "And ruin the mystery? Where's the fun in that?"
He considered reminding Wilson that he was perfectly capable of opening doors for himself, but decided arguing over it wasn't a great idea. "Then I'll keep assuming I'm first."
"You do that."
"And your lack of denial implies I'm right," he continued, hailing a cab.
"Or that I don't want to crush your confidence by revealing otherwise."
"Since when have you been worried about crushing my confidence?" A yellow cab pulled over, and House opened one of the back doors, sliding in.
Wilson smirked. "Since I have to put up with your for the next several days, it's a special case."
"Yeah, as opposed to, you know, living together?" House raised an eyebrow.
"A hotel room is a much smaller space, in case you haven't noticed."
"So when we get home, you'll go back to your attempts at crushing my ego."
"Hate to interrupt," the cabbie interjected, "but where're ya going?"
"The Bar on Castro," House told him and looked over at Wilson. "Unless you're worried about getting hit on."
"I'm not," Wilson told him sharply, "because I know you'll do physical harm to any man who tries."
"And you claimed you're not biased," House muttered as the cabbie pulled away from the curb. "Though you're also right. Same would go for women, though."
"And anything in between, as well."
"Unless they back off fast. Then they're safe."
Wilson chuckled. "Won't stop you from glaring daggers into their back, I'm sure."
"Which are coincidentally a lot less harmful than, say, my cane." He was rethinking the gay bar plan, since Wilson would be hit on and then he'd probably get annoyed while Wilson got smug. Of course, he'd probably get laid in the end anyway, so not too big a deal.
He smirked. "But pointier."
"Much pointier, and they probably feel them just as much." He shrugged. "You'd wonder what had happened if I stopped being territorial, anyway."
Wilson feigned shock. "You? Stop? You couldn't stop being territorial for five minutes, let alone an undecided length of time.
"When other people stop hitting on you, I'll back off. Some. Maybe."
"So…never?"
House smirked at him. "Like I said, you'd wonder what had happened."
"And then, you'd cheat on me, because I'd have obviously become fat, bald, and pock-marked."
He shifted the smirk into a halfhearted glare. "The odds of me cheating on you are lower than the territoriality lessening."
"Even if I let myself go?"
"Which you won't, because you're stuck with me as your doctor if it causes anything stupid."
Wilson snorted and dropped the playful grin he'd been sporting. "House, I think the nurses would sabotage my life if I actually did 'let myself go.'"
He snorted back. "You're more worried about the nurses than my reaction? Shows where I stand."
"You'd yell. They'd put Ex-Lax in my coffee."
"Low blow on their end. Be effective, though."
He arched an eyebrow. "Have you met the nurses? There is no blow too low for them."
"Especially your nurses. They're evil personified." They also liked to hit on Wilson, especially if House wasn't around.
"Only because you don't have nurses of your own to do your bidding."
"If I did, they would be less evil than yours." Were they actually arguing this? True, though; Wilson's nurses administered chemo, which was necessary but really nasty stuff.
"Until you trained yours properly. Then, it would be the Axis and Allied powers, enacted right in the hospital."
"Fortunately, I don't have enough patients to need nurses for my department."
He smirked. "Very fortunately," he agreed.
The cab pulled over in front of a row of solidly built stores and restaurants, interspersed with a few bars, and the driver turned in his seat to tell them the total. “Eleven forty.”
"He'll get it," House told the guy, climbing out of the car.
Wilson frowned but did, indeed, pony up the fare, and shot House an irked glance as he shut the door. "I'm not a free ride," he informed him blandly.
House snickered. "No, but you're a good one."
"You are just so witty." Wilson glanced around. "So, the bar?"
"You also earn a hell of a lot more than I do." He gestured to one of the buildings. "And The Bar."
"Ah, I forgot. My alimony does nothing to level the playing field." Wilson paused as he looked at the building being gestured at. "It's called The Bar?"
"The Bar on Castro, actually."
Wilson smirked. "Evokes interesting mental images of Fidel," he noted, and started wandering in the direction of the bar.
House followed him and glared at a guy his age who was definitely checking out Wilson's ass. It was going to be a long night. Why he’d ever thought this was a good idea, he couldn't remember.
"So, dare I ask if you've been here before?" Wilson questioned as he arrived at the doors to The Bar, casting a glance at House behind him.
"Once. Long time ago," House replied. "And by 'long', I mean 'when you were pre-med'."
"You make yourself out to be so old and wilted," Wilson commented as he opened the door and braved the insides.
"While I may be old, I resent the wilted implication." He followed Wilson inside, keeping close to ward off the less self-confident.
Wilson glanced around the bar for a long moment, as though he was afraid the floor would suddenly open up and swallow him whole in a sexual but entirely unpleasing way. After nothing jumped out to spook him, he nodded to a table up against the wall. "Over there?"
"Easier to keep people from groping you than the bar would be." House smirked at his discomfiture.
"I'd like to see you get on a stool," Wilson retorted tensely, heading for the table.
"Spoilsport. Getting off would be the issue, not on. And relax." He rolled his eyes at Wilson's obvious nerves. "I'll protect you from the scary other people."
"I'm more afraid of what you'll do to them than what they'll do to me," Wilson replied as he sunk into a chair. "I'm fine."
House considered for a moment, then took the chair next to Wilson. "Sure, you're fine, just about to jump out of your skin-which would be an interesting sight-if anyone else touches you."
"They're making skin-jumping into an Olympic event, actually."
"Need the practice so you can compete, then."
"Good you brought me here. I did always want an Olympic gold."
"You didn't have to come," he pointed out. "Could've stayed in the hotel bar."
Wilson shook his head. "And miss spring training? For shame."
"Using all these men for your own benefit. How typically…male."
He grinned. "I had to be typical in something. May as well have been this."
"Using people? It's a useful skill." House signaled to a server. "Though you do get more practice than people think."
"Is it using people when they enjoy being used? I never did understand the logistics of that."
"You always make them think they're not being used. Don't know why you bother."
"I like to be inclusive, I suppose."
"Results end up the same." The guy-younger than Chase, House guessed-he'd signaled approached the table, his eyes sliding right past House to rest appreciatively on Wilson.
"What can I get you guys?"
Wilson caught his gaze and smiled tightly. "I'll have a beer," he decided.
"Anything in particular?" The kid gave Wilson a smile that would turn Cameron into a puddle.
"Sam Adams?" he decided with a half-shrug, and fidgeted ever-so-slightly.
"Tap or bottle?" And did that question really require that angling of his hip?
"Tap, two," House broke in, giving him a speculative glance regarding how best to kill him.
The kid had the temerity to ignore House, waiting on Wilson's response.
"Tap," Wilson said, glancing sideways at House. "Two, please."
He nodded as House shifted on his chair, edging slightly closer to Wilson. "Anything else?"
"I don't know. House?" The smile Wilson sent House was edging on a smirk; he was apparently not oblivious to the situation.
"Hot wings," House decided, giving the kid an 'If you ignore me again, your shins will be introduced to the wonders of a cherry cane' glare.
Apparently, this one came across clear, because the flirtatious smile disappeared. "I'll get that for you." The kid retreated remarkably fast, given how much he'd seemed to enjoy being around Wilson.
Wilson chuckled and arched an eyebrow at House. "Who's uncomfortable now?"
"Not uncomfortable," he growled. "Territorial."
"Ah. The two are easy to confuse." He said back in his chair a bit, looking almost smug; of course, it was easy to look smug now that the big scary gay server had wandered off. "You wanted to come here."
"True. You are aware you were being hit on by someone younger than any of my employees?"
"The age difference between your employees and I is less than our age difference," Wilson pointed out. "Am I supposed to be bothered?"
"Chase is twenty-six," House countered. "Same difference, and that kid was maybe twenty-two."
"I thought you didn't believe in ageism."
"How old were you when you first had sex? Remind me, but if I remember right, young enough that he could be your kid."
He paused and glanced up at the ceiling, and then frowned. "Thank you for that disturbing thought."
House smirked at him. "You're so welcome. Hope it's appreciated."
"Absolutely," Wilson replied dryly.
Speaking of the server, he was returning bearing their beers. There was one way to make the 'hands off' concept clear to the kid, and House decided to employ it, leaning in enough to kiss Wilson hard.
Wilson jerked slightly, obviously surprised, but then gave up on whatever indignation he was trying to communicate and eased into the kiss.
House smirked against his lips and sat back, feeling rather self-satisfied and figuring the flirting thing-at least from this one-wouldn't happen again. He was right; the glasses were set in front of them, and the guy didn't make eye contact with Wilson when he asked if there was anything else he could get them.
Wilson politely sent the server off before sending House a dubious 'look'. "Territorial indeed."
"Thought we had this conversation." He sipped his beer.
"I just didn't realize the depths to which your territoriality ran."
"Not like I groped you." House reconsidered that statement. "Publicly. Yet."
Wilson rolled his eyes while picking up his beer. "I would stop you from going that far."
"Depends on if I was fending off a harmless waiter, or some guy your age."
"The attractive young waiter is more a threat than a middle-ager?"
"The middle-ager would be more aggressive than the young waiter."
"More aggressive than you?"
House shook his head. "No, because he'd meet my cane before he touched you."
Wilson smirked. "Even if you found him attractive, too?"
"That's assuming he would be attractive. And if you didn't want him to touch you…you'd probably slug him before I could. The reasoning stands, though."
"And here, I thought you'd be more adventurous than that."
"If you wanted him to touch you, it'd be a different story."
"You wouldn't be territorial then? I find that hard to believe."
"I'd still be territorial, just also pissed off," House conceded.
"Ah. No middle ground." Wilson smirked and sipped his beer.
The 'inflating Wilson's ego' thing hadn't been part of the deal. Maybe he should have to deal with the men on his own. House mulled over that possibility while drinking his beer.
The server returned with the hot wings a moment later, setting them, two plates, and a couple napkins on the table. He glanced warily at House before looking to Wilson. "Anything else?"
Wilson arched an eyebrow and looked over to the brooding House. "I'm not sure."
House shook his head and finished the first half of his beer, and the server beat a hasty path toward a presumably safer locale. They divvied up the wings and House didn't break his sudden habit of silence-something that, while sometimes welcome, was more than a little worrisome to Wilson in this mildly intimidating bar. When House had finished off about half his share, he stood-which probably wasn't a good thing.
"Be right back."
Wilson frowned. "Where to?"
House rolled his eyes. "Back to Jersey. Restroom, genius."
Wilson glanced around the bar briefly. "Okay," he decided with the appropriate amount of hesitation.
Continue.