FIC: "Bar Exam" (part two), Greg House/James Wilson
Title: Bar Exam (part two)
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 053. Trolley
Word Count: 8,067 for this part; 11,282 overall
Rating: They went and had sex in the last 2,000 or so words. NC-17.
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. Continued from here.
House pushed his way through the slowly swelling crowd, and Wilson watched him, silently cursing the man for leaving him alone in a gay bar. There was a healthy peppering of women among all the men, but considering every woman seemed to be with at least one other woman, the odds were against them flirting with him.
Besides, he was a lone man in a gay bar. Women weren't likely to seek him out.
Deciding that the best offense would be a good defense, he focused on his beer and picking at the last of his hot wings. Maybe any and all single men present would have noticed House limping away from the table and stay a healthy distance away. Like, Arizona.
Okay, maybe not Arizona. He'd settle for Santa Barbara. Anything but approaching the table, in fact, which a blond man around his age was now doing.
A deep interest in his beer-or what was left of it-was now in order. After all, the blond man could be headed somewhere else. Anywhere else. Like, the back wall of the bar.
"Hi."
Or not.
Wilson glanced up. "Uh. Hi."
The man-okay, the attractive man-gestured to House's chair. "Is anyone sitting here?"
"In the bathroom," Wilson replied almost automatically, then frowned. "Er, yes. There is."
Apparently unperturbed, he pulled out one of the chairs on the other side of the table, and did House always have to be right? "A friend of yours?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
The blond held out a hand. "Bill."
Wilson smiled weakly. Please, please, please let House come back from the bathroom. "James," he introduced, and shook his hand loosely.
"You're from out of town?" Persistent, this Bill.
"Yeah. Business. From Jersey." Short. Sweet. To the point.
Bill was about to say something when, oh thank God, that familiar cane tapped back through the crowd. House surveyed the tableau for a moment before pinning a glare that Wilson had seen actually work against Foreman on Bill as he slid into his chair and closer to Wilson. "New friend, Jimmy?" He sounded almost demonic.
"Uh, this is Bill," Wilson introduced. "Bill, this is Greg."
Bill-who apparently had a death wish-held out his hand to House. "Nice to meet you, Greg."
House just stared at the hand for a moment, then intensified the glare. "I'd say the same, if you hadn't just invited yourself to chat up my partner."
He'd said it. Good. Wilson picked up his beer and wondered if he could hide behind it. Easier said than done, probably.
Bill's expression hardened in return. "If he had a problem, he could have said something."
Were all Californians this annoying and/or suicidal? Maybe the state wasn't so nice.
"He's shy." A blatant lie, but Wilson wasn't about to call House on it while Bill was still here. "And he's taken. Bye now."
Wilson smiled slightly. "Sorry to give the wrong impression," he apologized, but he really didn't feel that sorry. Except maybe in the sense that House was going to tease him about this later. A lot.
Bill's face darkened, but he left. Finally. House kept his eyes on him until it was pretty clear the guy wasn't coming back.
"Thanks," he muttered once the coast was clear, and finished off his beer.
"You know," and now House sounded chipper, which was fine coming from anyone else, but this was House, "scaring them away works a lot better if you bother to mention your scary boyfriend will be back any second."
"I said that you were in the bathroom. I didn't think he'd sit down."
"Did you say the word boyfriend, partner, or lover at any point?"
…damn. "Isn't it assumed in a place like this?"
"That's like saying it's assumed a woman is with her husband in a non-gay bar," House replied dryly.
"Or with her boyfriend, or something."
"Which would suck for guys like you who pick up-or used to pick up-women in bars." He cocked his head. "Which would include me."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "You're planning to pick someone up here after chasing Bill away?"
"Noooo." The way he drew it out strongly implied he thought Wilson was being an idiot, which would annoy him more if he didn't feel like an idiot at the moment. "It just means people don't assume unless specific nouns are used."
"When I used to pick up women in bars, and they told me that the person they were with was in the bathroom, I didn't assume I could move in on the action." Most of the time. But House wouldn't know that.
"So you assumed they were with a significant other? How noble of you."
"Sure." He shrugged. "Unless, of course, they were with one or more other women. Then, I assumed I'd hit the jackpot."
"It's a miracle they dated you," House muttered, but he was smirking. At least he wasn't sulking any more.
Wilson smirked. "They're not the only ones," he pointed out.
"Except I knew what I was getting into, and I can be more of a bastard."
"Are you implying I'm a bastard? I'm hurt."
"You wanted subtle? Maybe you should've gone with Bill." And there was that tiny hint of jealousy.
"But I barely know him. You interrupted our bonding time."
"In other words, saved your ass from the scary gay guy." The smirk deepened.
Wilson preferred the jealousy. How to reinspire that? "Or saved my ass from a gay ol' time."
"You'd put out on a first date? Slut." The bastard was enjoying himself far too much.
"You didn't complain."
"But that wasn't the first time I met you," he countered.
"How do you know Bill and I aren't war buddies, or something?"
"Because he believed you're shy."
Yeah, come to think of it, he had. "Why'd you tell him that, anyway?"
"The other option was, 'He's a mildly homophobic bi slut,' and you really want that one said in a gay bar?" Far too amused.
"His reaction would have been priceless."
"Yet for some reason, I wasn't willing to help you get your ass kicked."
"I don't know. The 'slut' portion of the comment-" Which he did take a bit of offense to, now that he thought about it. "-may have outweighed the mildly homophobic. Especially since I'm not."
"Homophobic, or a slut? Because you are." Jackass.
"I'm neither, thanks."
House cocked his head. "Did you just claim you're not a slut? Too bad I didn't tape it. The nurses would laugh themselves into hernias."
He frowned. "Again, you never complained." God, what was it about this place that made him incapable of wit?
"Because you haven't cheated on me." He shrugged.
"Yes, right. Since I have abandoned my slutty ways for you, it's forgivable."
"Obviously. And dating half the nurses qualifies you as slutty."
Wilson rolled his eyes and snorted. "It hasn't been half."
He was really beginning to hate that smirk. "Sorry, was the estimate too low?"
"Oh. You're so funny."
"I chased off your suitor. I get to mock you."
"Even if I hadn't wanted him chased off," Wilson argued, "you would have done it anyway."
"But then you would have said something." Forget 'smug' as remotely attractive.
"Not necessarily."
House eyed him skeptically. "Right, you would have said nothing if I was scaring off someone you were interested in."
"I don't want my big, scary boyfriend after me with a cane."
"You could take me." Wilson was fairly sure, considering the gleam in House's eyes, that he didn't mean in a fight.
"I'm sure you'd like me to," he replied with a smirk.
“No, actually, the plan was the other way around.”
"I thought you wanted to be out here at the bar. Drinking to recover from the oh-so-tedious lectures." If House was going to be a pain, he could certainly prolong the torture. "Don't you want another beer?"
"You think what's-his-name's actually going to come back?" Good mood. Maybe he wouldn't abandon Wilson again.
"Only if he's particularly dense. I don't think he'd like you when you're angry."
"I don't turn big and green. Be kinda cool if I did, though."
"Might be interesting to see Cuddy's reaction."
"Yeah, she'd sedate me and figure experiments might be fun." House snorted.
Wilson smirked. "And once you woke up, you'd House smaaaash."
Was that a grin appearing on his face? Miraculous. "She'd regret giving me an office with glass walls then."
"The whole hospital is glass. Obviously a design flaw. Architects didn't consider mutants."
"You got a non-glass office, which was actually pretty stupid of her," House pointed out.
"I have some glass," he pointed out. "The door to the balcony that you like to throw things at."
House waved a hand dismissively. "But the inner walls aren't glass, which, again, wasn't the smartest thing she's ever done."
He decided to take the bait. "Why is that, again?"
A snort. "How many times have you gotten laid on your couch? Or your desk, or somewhere else in your very non-glass office?"
Wilson frowned. "Point," he conceded, "but it hasn't been that often."
"Yet more often than I get laid in my glass office."
"You just haven't perfected the art."
"And your non-glass office isn't exactly far away." Now he was smirking again.
"Is that a suggestion that you'd like to try the glass one sometime?"
"I do have blinds."
"You could make a sign. 'If the blinds are rockin', don't come a-knockin'."
"Or one that says, 'Wilson should never attempt poetry again if he wants office sex,'" he muttered.
Wilson smirked. "You prefer free verse?"
"Free something." He frowned. "How're we going to get more beer?" Apparently, he'd just realized that scaring off the server could be problematic.
"I can go get them." Wilson frowned as soon as he said it, though; there seemed to be a number of men sitting at the bar who were everything but actively engaged in conversation. "Or we can call the server back," he added.
"Or you can be a big boy and go get it."
"Last time I was a big boy," he retorted quickly, "you told a stranger I was shy and chased him off."
"I could invite him back, if you were enjoying that encounter so much."
"I was just pointing it out. Let's not be rash."
House slid his glass toward Wilson. "Beer."
Wilson sighed. He had the strangest impression he wouldn't win this one, thanks to his own big mouth. "Any particular variety, massah?" he questioned, snatching up the glass.
"That works much better when Foreman does it." House shrugged. "And Sam Adams was fine, unless you want to be adventurous and try some microbrew."
"I wouldn't want you to threaten the beer with your cane," he replied with a smirk, and went up to the bar. He could do this, he reasoned. How hard was it to have beers refilled without strangers chatting you up?
He flagged the bartender and handed him the glasses. "Can I get these refilled? Sam Adams, tap."
The bartender looked him over but, thankfully, didn't comment as he took the glasses. Wilson drummed his fingers as he waited, glancing back at House, who was apparently making a concerted effort to look as though he wasn't watching.
Maybe he'd gotten lucky with the bartender just eyeing him, but it didn't hold when another man, this one closer to House's age, stopped beside him and set down a glass. "You haven't been in before." It wasn't a question so much as a blatant invitation for information.
"I haven't been here before." The bartender appeared to have been stalled by a regular. Dammit. He sent a fleeting glance at the stranger. "Might explain it."
"Not from around here?" he pressed.
"No." Short. Simple. House was probably smirking, the bastard.
"In town on business?" Either very persistent, or very dense.
"Conference." God, how much longer was the bartender going to talk?
"Here with anyone?"
"Actually, yes." Finally, the bartender actually reached for the tap. Only a few more seconds of…this. He jerked his head in the general direction of their table, and House. "See the one with the cane?"
The stranger glanced in House's direction and arched an eyebrow disdainfully. "You're with him?"
"No. I was pointing him out because I thought you might be interested." Wilson accepted his glasses from the bartender with a self-satisfied smile. "Otherwise, yes."
"That's a waste." The man shrugged and handed the bartender his glass. "Usual, John."
"I know. We should really be having sex somewhere instead of drinking here." Wilson wasn't sure why he said it, but he contented himself with a smirk as he left the bar and headed back to the table.
House arched an eyebrow as Wilson neared their table, which was disturbingly like the look the other guy had had. "Chased this one off all by yourself?"
Wilson handed over his beer, shrugging. "Jealous you didn't get to threaten him?"
"Surprised you remembered you have a spine." House took the beer.
"There are situations in which I can summon up my reserves," he replied evenly, settling into his chair.
House eyed him, and it wasn't the comfortable, 'I'm checking out a hot piece of ass,' look. No, this was his annoying, 'There's something you're not telling me, and I'm going to find out what it is, even if it kills the kids,' look.
He forced himself to ignore it as best he can. "So, any other soul-scarring field trips planned?"
"You only call up those reserves when someone pisses you off." House was apparently ignoring the question. That was rude.
"Maybe he pissed me off."
"It would be logical." His version of fishing. Great.
"That I was pissed off because he pissed me off? Why, House, you are a genius."
"Which leaves the question of how he pissed you off."
Wilson took a sip of his beer. "Does it matter?"
"Considering we're sharing a bed? Yeah."
"Fine. He was an asshole. Happy?"
House shook his head. "Generic descriptor. Also applies to me."
He was going to want specifics, wasn't he? Fine. Fake specifics, it was. "Different kind of asshole." He shrugged. "Assholier."
"It wasn't just hitting on you, because you're used to that." Only House would try a differential diagnosis on what had pissed him off. The bitch about it was that House might actually figure it out that way.
"I thought we agreed that men hitting on me made me uncomfortable. Mildly homophobic slut, remember?"
"No, I agreed that. You claimed to be neither."
"I'll retract my statement, then." Especially if the retraction ended the conversation.
"Okay, so you're a mildly homophobic slut. Still doesn't mean guys hitting on you pisses you off." The man was a bulldog.
"It could, though. Theoretically."
"The one sitting at our table didn't, but the one at the bar did?" He sounded skeptical.
"Asshole hypothesis. The one at our table was not an asshole."
"I'm gonna disagree with that."
Wilson snorted. "And why is that?"
"The 'not leaving' part brought him into the category."
"He left."
"Eventually, after you finally bothered to speak up."
"If he was an asshole," Wilson clarified, "the other one was Cuddy. PMSing. No chocolate in sight."
House winced. "How'd he manage to qualify for 'bitch on the warpath' status?"
…maybe that hadn't been the best description. "On your graduated scale? Too forward."
Definitely not the best description, judging by the developing glower. Maybe correcting House's impression before he went off and started a fight would be a good idea.
"Not about me," he reassured quickly, gritting his teeth.
"Then what?" That deadly expression wasn't leaving.
He wasn't going to get out of this, was he? "I pointed you out."
"And?" How could he make a single word spell death for the other guy?
"He was…less than enthusiastic."
"About you being unavailable? Hardly surprising, but not enough to piss you off."
"He was…rude."
"It's like trying to get a patient to tell what illegal drugs they're taking," House muttered.
Wilson smirked. "No, that's probably easier."
He downed about half his beer in one long swallow. "So he was rude. That's somehow unique to him? Look at who you're here with."
"He was rude about my choice of company."
"Rude as in, 'You're with a cripple,' or rude as in, 'He's too old for you'?" He sounded amused. Again.
"A combination."
"And that pissed you off?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to take strangers criticizing you lightly? I need to read up in the code of conduct."
"You look maybe thirty-three-which Cuddy hates you for, by the way. I, on the other hand, look like fifty's well behind me."
"He was at least as old as you."
"But did he look as old as I do? No flattering now-you'll make my ego swell. Or something else."
Wilson smirked. "That's incentive for me to flatter, you know."
House gave him a 'duh' look in lieu of replying.
"He looked fifty years older, at the very least. You, you could be an elementary school student on that scale." And God, please let that be the end of it.
"So protective," House mocked. Of course he would-like he'd let that go? "It's like a puppy snarling at someone for yelling at their person."
"Chase is the puppy. I am…" He paused, pretending to consider. "Actually, I have no idea."
"But Chase wouldn't snarl. He's a miniature poodle. You can be…a German shepherd."
"And what kind of dog are you, as long as we're speculating?"
"A three-legged Doberman," House shot back, almost too fast.
Wilson smirked slightly. "You've given this entirely too much thought, haven't you?"
"It's something to do when General Hospital isn't on and you're busy. Foreman thinks he's a Rottweiler, but he's a Labrador, and Cameron…is a King Charles."
"And Cuddy is a…collie?"
"Herding us all into our places, that's her."
"Nipping at ankles, no less."
"Very annoying of her. Maybe we should bite back."
"I've heard of cat fights, but dog fights…?"
"Unless you want me to come up with types of cats we can be. Dog fights can be worse."
"As amusing as that speculation might be, I'll pass. And start clearing more time in my schedule, lest you start choosing what types of fish we all are."
House snorted. "Marine life? Dolphins, of course. Me, anyway."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Forget I mentioned it."
"Then give me something else to think about," he suggested.
"If I had a suggestion of what else there is to think about, I would have suggested it. Instead, I am discovering that you get too bored too often."
"That's somehow news?" House gave him an exaggeratedly surprised look.
Wilson smirked slightly. "Shocks me, too. You would think I'd have learned."
"All these years, and you're still learning." He shook his head. "What a disappointment."
"I blame you, somehow."
"You blame me because you haven't learned about me? Interesting logic."
"Yes, well, we can't all be experts on the human psyche like you are." Wilson took a long swig of his beer.
House cocked his head at him. "Uh, I go to you to figure out what people are thinking. Are you telling me my source is faulty?"
"You go to me, and yet so rarely listen to me. Or believe me, for that matter. Strange, how that works."
"I listen, even if I don't take what you say to heart. Besides, you go and change your mind about advice, which is cheating."
He snorted, smirking. "Again, I need to re-read the rule book."
"I think we have a copy back at the hotel." House knocked back the rest of his beer.
Ah, and back to that topic. He smirked as House set down his glass. "Is that a suggestion that you're done trying to scar me for life? House, have you lost your touch?"
"We do have two more nights in this city," he pointed out. "I'm sure you'd have tons of fun at other bars around here I can think of."
"It'd get old, I'm sure, once the novelty of the exercise wore off."
"Oh, I don't know. Dragging you to a leather bar could have interesting results."
Wilson paused and studied him for a moment. Yeah, House was serious. Or serious enough. "Again," he replied, and reached for his wallet, "I'm not Chase."
"Why do you keep bringing up Chase? It's disturbing that you keep involving him in our relationship." He wasn't actually annoyed, Wilson decided; more like curious and interested but trying to hide it.
"Puppies and leather remind me of Chase." He tossed a couple bills onto the table; it was more than enough, and he doubted the server would really want to come by long enough to figure out the exact cost of everything and then bring change. "Which is definitely an odd combination."
"And kinda weird." Great, now he was thinking about it. At least he was also standing.
Wilson shrugged as he stood, too. "We're in a gay bar, in San Francisco. I think the situation was weird with or without Chase."
"Except for the part where we're both a little gay."
"Only a little?" He smirked.
"Fine, about half gay. Happy, Dr. I-am-not-a-homophobe?" House turned toward the door.
"I am not a homophobe," Wilson reminded him, and, if only to prove him wrong, patted him warmly on the ass before moving to walk next to him.
"No, you're a parrot," he replied, apparently unperturbed, as he navigated the crowd.
"A parrot?" Wilson smirked. "Greggie want a cracker?"
Said 'Greggie' cast him a glare with nothing behind it. "If you're the parrot, Jimmy, you get the cracker."
"I thought you were saving that for back at the hotel."
House copped a feel of Wilson's ass, failing to remove his hand. "Unless you want to try having sex in the restroom of a gay bar…"
"I wouldn't want the other patrons to think they could get a piece of you," he replied with a shrug.
"So likely, after that last encounter you had."
"Obviously, the man had poor taste."
"Flatterer. Could be you're the one with poor taste."
"You've always had positive things to say about my wives."
"Their looks, maybe." House was smirking again as they reached the door.
"So my taste can't be that bad." Wilson pushed the door open and stepped out, holding the door for House whether he liked it or not.
"This time you went for intelligence instead. And, you know, it's my leg that's crippled, not my arm." House raised an eyebrow at him.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Next time, I'll drop the door on you. And who says I didn't go for both?"
"Everyone but you, apparently."
"And you're so often one to trust others' opinions."
"Can't trust yours anymore. You keep changing it." Something like that had been said earlier, hadn't it?
"And what other opinion have I changed again?"
"What people are thinking, to start. And how I should act toward people." House glanced down the street, presumably to see if there were any empty taxis around.
"Ah, yes. That. Well, blame the bar, I suppose. Changing all my opinions."
"Interesting side effect of getting you out of your comfort zone."
He smirked. "Would you rather it became my comfort zone?"
"Only if you're not doing it to get other guys." A cab, its roof light on, came cruising down Castro, and House flagged it down.
"Would that disappoint you? I thought you were the one open to new experiences."
"As long as the new experiences don't mean I have to share. I failed that part of preschool." He climbed into the taxi and leaned forward. "Marriot on Fourth."
Wilson smirked. "Well, that certainly limits the possibilities," he commented as he settled into the back of the cab.
The driver peeled away from the curb-he wouldn't be out of place in New York-as House replied. "I didn't say no other people, just no sharing. Which is a logistical challenge."
"That undoubtedly leaves you in a much better position than I."
"Oh, I don't know. You're supposed to be smart. Figure something out that would be better for you, if you can."
"They all involve sharing, sadly."
"Then I come out on top." House shrugged in the half-dark of the cab. One thing about this city, it was definitely well-lit. "Not going to complain about that."
"In more way than one, I am sure."
"Obviously. How else am I going to benefit from some nebulous third party?"
Smirking, Wilson shrugged. "I can think of other activities," he replied somewhat coyly.
"Oh, he's being secretive now."
"You're the one who's supposed to be imaginative."
"You really want me to do a differential on your thoughts on possible sexual positions in the back of a cab?" He had a point.
"It wasn't positions so much as alternatives," he replied casually, and really hoped the cabbie wasn't interested.
"Okay, alternatives. The question stands." House tilted his head back in a way that meant he was actually going to do it.
"Oral," Wilson mumbled. "Specifically."
He smirked triumphantly. "Was that so hard to say?"
"I thought you enjoyed making other people uncomfortable, not me," he muttered.
"There's no one else around, which means you have to suffer."
"Usually, you can find a stranger or two."
"In this case, the only stranger has control of our lives, and I don't think she'd appreciate my commentary." Wait, wasn't the cabbie a guy?
Yeah, definitely a guy. "He," Wilson corrected.
Up front, the driver snorted. "Your boyfriend's right."
"Details." House didn't seem bothered by his assumption. "The point stands."
"Never stopped you before," Wilson returned, smiling slightly.
"They rarely literally hold my life in their hands," House pointed out. "Though I could try pissing off the pilot when we go home, see how that works."
"The air marshal would shoot you before you got to the cabin."
"Another person I shouldn't piss off."
"Are you getting soft in your old age? So many people you aren't willing to piss off."
"The driver holds more than my life, and getting shot would suck," he countered.
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "What else does the driver hold?"
"The future of my sex life without hiring hookers."
He blinked. "I think that is the least romantic romantic sentiment you have ever expressed. I am both touched and disturbed."
"You expected something along the lines of, 'You, the love of my life'?" House snorted. "Who do you think I am, Cameron?"
"Oh, I didn't expect anything at all romantic. Hence the surprise."
"If that did count as romantic, I'd say I'd solved your marriage issues."
"Far too late, in any case," Wilson reminded him.
"Assuming you decide against a fourth try, that is true. Too bad. Could've stayed with one of the pretty wives."
"Oh, but House," Wilson teased, batting his eyelashes, "not one of them are nearly as pretty as you."
The driver made a choking sound up front. House, however, seemed far less disturbed. Wilson couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. "If you wanted a pretty guy, you should have gone for Chase. Though I doubt he'd be willing to fuck you without explicit instructions."
"Yes, but I would miss the witty commentary on my every move," Wilson retorted.
"And it'd piss you off if I was commenting on your relationship with an eager-to-please Brit. Good choice."
"Yes, well, I weighed your relative obnoxiousness in each possible homosexual relationship open to me, and realized you'd be least obnoxious if I dated you. It was a very scientific process."
"So that fucking that I remember happening before we got together, that was a hallucination?"
"It was the first step in my master plan. Which, as you may notice, worked."
The taxi stopped outside the hotel. "Eleven-forty," the driver told them.
"He'll get it." House smirked at Wilson. "Paying has to have factored into the plan."
Wilson mock-glared at him. "I retract having good taste and replace it with expensive taste," he grumbled, and fished the fare from his pocket. He handed it to the cabbie before getting out of the car. "You could try paying for something sometime. Or is that outside your comfort zone?"
"Paid for the townhouse. You've got making up to do." House closed the door and started for the hotel.
"Ah, right. You shouldn't have paid for your house. Forgot how that works." Wilson rolled his eyes as he followed.
"You're living there," House pointed out. "And didn't pay for it. Therefore, despite all the lunches and everything, I'm ahead."
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "Room and board? How very college dorm of you."
"Major difference being that my college roommate didn't make twice what I did, and he wasn't sleeping in my bed." He seemed to reconsider that. "He wasn't supposed to, anyway."
"I'm not sure I want to know."
"My bed was closer to the door, and he came back too drunk to go further." House smirked. "Which is stupid when your roommate is pre-med and…me."
"I retract my previous statement," Wilson replied, "and amend it to, 'I definitely do not want to know.'"
"Smart move." House jabbed the up button.
"I have my moments."
House didn't comment on the intelligence thing, which was expected; he might mock Wilson for everything else, but something in House's personal code kept him from attacking his brain. "Though knowing would prepare you in case I do something similar to you."
"There are things you haven't done to me?"
"That's a loaded question."
Wilson smirked. "I learned from the best."
"There are things I haven't done to you. Yet." The elevator arrived, and House stepped on, hitting the button for their floor. "Give me time and incentive."
He smirked as he followed. "I should have guessed it was only a matter of time."
"And incentive. You'd have to do something fairly stupid."
"Such as?"
"Acting on this obsession you seem to have with Chase comes to mind." He didn't want the jealousy back now, but it looked like he might have to deal with it.
"I mentioned him twice. Are you sure you're not the one with the obsession?"
"You kept saying you're not Chase, which could imply…actually, I don't know what it could imply."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Please don't get Freudian on me now."
House leered, badly, at him. "Can I still get on you?"
"If you keep Freud out of it."
"No psychoanalyzing why you're with me instead of a woman mid-coitus? How boring."
"Yes, well, I try to be boring in all things. Glad to see I'm succeeding."
"Self-deprecating isn't a good look on you," House informed him.
"And smug was never a good look on you."
"Another lie, like the stubble?" He was feigning offense now. "Is our whole relationship a lie?"
Wilson sighed. "I had hoped you wouldn't figure it out."
"We're discovering all kinds of flaws you have in relationships tonight."
"And now, you understand 'ignorance is bliss' all the better."
"Forewarned is forearmed," House quipped back. "Although I do have the advantage of knowing how you screw up in relationships because of watching you do it over and over."
Wilson smirked. "And you have a better artillery than any of the wives. Or all of them."
"Plus, I have the advantage of working with you." The elevator doors slid open. "Makes it easier to keep an eye on you."
"Ah, yes. I need to be babysat. Forgot about that."
"It is an advantage the wives didn't have." House looked down the hall. "Which room are we again?"
"You can't even remember that?" Wilson chided.
"Was I supposed to?"
"Four fifteen."
"Way to avoid the question." He found the appropriate room and slid his key card into the slot.
"Again, learned from the master."
"Didn't learn very well."
"It's a work in progress."
He smirked devilishly. "Anything else you're learning that needs further help?"
"I don't know. Is there anything you think I should be learning?" He arched an eyebrow.
"Not so much learning as practicing."
Wilson smirked. "Practicing piano? My mastery of the Spanish language?"
House made a face at the suggestions. "Both of those are firmly in the learning category."
"Oh. So then…practicing my knitting?"
"Only if we're expecting and you failed to inform me."
Wilson frowned. "And here, I was going to plan a big dinner and tell you over dessert."
House snorted at him. "Sorry to screw up your plans like that."
"Yes, well, that's all right. I know you'll be an excellent father." He smirked.
"Would that make you the mother?" House mused.
"I haven't figured out all the logistics, honestly."
"Like where you'd be carrying it? You realize Cuddy would go nuts trying to keep us from ruining the kid completely."
"Only if I didn't go nuts from the same first," Wilson replied. "You'd corrupt a child before age three."
"Define 'corrupt'."
He paused, considering this. "I'm not sure, but it involves a toddler wandering around and declaring that everybody lies and that Cuddy is a bad lady."
House gave a snort of laughter. "Now that would just be funny, especially since the blame would automatically be placed on me."
"I would not teach a child those things."
"Not that you'd admit to, anyway."
"And certainly not so young," he added, smirking.
"Oh, right. Wait until it's six or seven and can learn to terrorize people while seeming nice. Far better." House sprawled out on the bed and toed off his shoes.
He shrugged. "Has to learn the family business sometime," he offered, smiling appreciative at House's lounging. "Comfortable?"
"Mmm. Also trying to figure out why we're discussing a medical impossibility."
"I believe you were comparing me to a pregnant woman, or something similar." Wilson kicked off his own shoes and joined House on the bed.
"You said something about knitting," House reminded him, turning toward him.
"Ah, right. Because everyone who knits is pregnant. That was it." He smirked slightly.
"Something like that. If you were, it'd be impressive."
"For me more than you. Nothing like finding out you were secretly a woman all these years."
"Though it would explain how you don't have twenty little Wilsons running around."
"Yes. Because contraceptives are simply for decoration."
"Only ninety-nine percent effective," House argued. "Statistically speaking, you should have at least one somewhere. Or should have had one."
Wilson shrugged. "I try not to think too hard about the numbers." He paused, glancing at House. "If I'd known we were going to discuss theoretical children, I would have stayed at the bar."
"We got sidetracked from the original plan." House shrugged.
"Does that mean you're preferring this discussion to the original plan?"
The hand suddenly cupping his groin contradicted that idea. "Definitely. So much more interesting."
Wilson sucked in a breath. "I can imagine," he forced out, gritting his teeth. The bastard.
"Though it is more fun to practice making the theoretical children than to discuss them," he continued, reaching for Wilson's fly.
"Hard to practice making things we can't have," he muttered.
"There's a reason they're theoretical." Now the hand was sliding into his pants and along his boxers.
"So, really, it's just all an excuse to have sex," Wilson surmised, reaching forward to ghost his own hand over House's fly-after all, he couldn't let House have all the fun.
"It took you that long to figure it out?"
"I blame the hand in my pants."
House squeezed gently. "That could be distracting."
"A little." Wilson's coherent thoughts were starting to run into his groin, but he didn't stop himself from blatantly groping House through his jeans.
"Wasn't oral mentioned at some point tonight?" The hand was leaving, which was just mean of House.
"For a nebulous third, sure."
"Then I'll withdraw the offer."
"Oh, well, as long as it's you."
House nudged his side with an elbow. "Then get your pants off. Little hard to blow you well through fabric."
"Yes sir." He obliged House perhaps a little too eagerly, shedding his pants and boxers quickly.
House stripped off his shirt and jeans and positioned himself between Wilson's legs. "Move up, or I'm gonna fall off the end of the bed."
Wilson smirked. "You don't have to be so demanding now that all the big, scary gay men are gone," he noted as he wriggled his way up the bed.
He smirked up at Wilson. "You did call me sir. And are you saying I'm not big or scary?"
"Not to me. Other people find you suitably terrifying."
"I resent the 'not big' idea," House said, and took Wilson halfway into his mouth before getting a reply.
Wilson let out a strangled half-response that was an attempt at a correction, the start of the words dissolving into a groan. House was entirely too good at this; Wilson suspected, when he was capable of thought, that he was better than most of the women Wilson had been with because he knew what felt good. Right then, though, coherent thought was pretty far down on his list, somewhere below, “Sell the Volvo in this lifetime.” Then House swallowed him down, and that was enough to drive any remnant of that list out of his mind.
Wilson groaned and moved his hands to tangle House's hair, his hips trembling as he forced himself to not thrust up and fuck House's mouth in earnest. He'd been hornier than he'd realized, and could feel the desperate burn building already. House's mouth dragged back up slowly, his tongue pressing firmly, and his hand wrapped around the base of Wilson's cock, the other cupping his balls.
He gripped House's head harder, gritting his teeth and then groaning through them. Damn, was there a guidebook House had discovered, read, and committed to memory? House's…thumb, maybe, brushed against his perineum, pressing harder as he lowered his mouth to swallow again, and God, he was just too good at that.
So good, in fact, that the pressure of his mouth and tongue as he swallowed overcame any and all restrain Wilson still had and he groaned out some combination of curse and coherence as he came, his fingers digging into House's skull.
House pulled up slowly and smirked at him. "That may have been a record."
Wilson took a long, deep breath before shooting House the most annoyed glance he could muster. "I'm sorry. I'll give you TMJ next time."
"That's assuming I have that much patience." He climbed back up the bed to lie beside Wilson and stripped off his boxers.
"True," he admitted, and then leaned over to kiss House deeply; at least some foreplay was in order if he was at all going to return the favor. House returned the kiss, nipping at his lip, but made an annoyed sound when his hands found Wilson's shirt under his hands.
Wilson ignored his annoyance and busied himself, instead, with running his hands along House's chest and sides, bringing one all the way down and across his hip bone, teasingly close but not quite to his cock.
As House broke the kiss, his hands slid up under Wilson's shirt. "I blow you, and what do I get? Teasing."
"And groping me through my pants wasn't teasing?" he retorted, reaching around to kiss House's neck. His hand found his erection and squeezed it firmly, just in case House was thinking about arguing.
"Not my fault you felt the need to wear pants," he muttered, hips rising off the mattress.
"Oh. Right. I'll just stop wearing them, then. Especially to gay bars." He squeezed House again, punctuating the motion with a nip on House's neck.
"Long as no one else touches." His voice was getting ragged. Good.
Wilson smirked against his neck. "Ah, yes. The territorialism. I'd forgotten." He dipped his head lower and trailed kisses down House's collarbone and then chest, using his hand to start a slow pumping rhythm.
The lack of any coherent reply meant House was enjoying himself thoroughly at this point. His hands left Wilson's back and fingers tangled in his hair. Wilson dropped a few more kisses onto House's lower chest and then stomach before scooting the last short distance down the bed and running his tongue over the pre-cum dampened head of House's cock, his hand still employing the previous rhythm.
Wilson figured, while there was definitely something to be said for House's fast-and-hard method, his had its advantages, too. For one, House actually kept quiet, and he'd never complained-which he would if there was anything he disliked.
And then, of course, there was the fact that it was revenge for House's constant verbal (and physical) teasing. He pressed his tongue to House's head and kept pumping before dropping his hand to the base of House's cock and lowering his mouth more fully, taking him in slowly. House was apparently slightly less eager than Wilson had been, since his fingers barely tightened for a moment in Wilson's hair before relaxing again. Was that a muffled groan he'd just heard? He thought it was.
He swallowed around House's length-show him to muffle his groans-and tightened his mouth, sucking him in earnest. The hand around his base gripped more firmly, too, and Wilson employed his empty hand in tracing the inside of House's thigh.
This groan wasn't muffled, even if it was still quiet. He wondered fleetingly if House had been this quiet before, then decided it really didn't matter. Instead, he traced his hand up House's thigh and to his balls, stroking his fingers over his skin while continuing his other ministrations. House's hold tightened again, not enough to hurt but enough to tell Wilson that he was probably getting close at this point.
Taking the hint, he pressed forward, taking more of House into his mouth and swallowing hard around him, slipping his fingers just beyond his balls and pressing on the flesh there-turnabout, after all, was fair play. He felt House's hips barely rise before being pressed back down against the mattress, and House pulsed into his mouth, salty-bitterness on his tongue.
After swallowing, Wilson pulled slowly away and climbed up to lie next to him. "That wasn't a marathon on your part, either," he pointed out.
"You cheated somehow," House mumbled. He'd get like this sometimes, refusing to move much after he'd had an orgasm.
"Ah. Yes. Cheating at sex. My specialty."
House cracked an eye open. "You, of all people, should not use the words 'cheat' and 'sex' in the same sentence."
Wilson snorted. "Right," he agreed, settling beside House and very idly bringing a hand to trace up his side.
House tossed an arm across Wilson's shoulders. "So much for practicing making theoretical children."
"Tomorrow is another day."
"Be kind of hard to have tomorrow be the same day," he agreed.
"Smart ass," Wilson muttered.
"More interested in your ass, actually."
"You only want me for my body, don't you?"
"N-of course. What else do you possibly have going for you?"
Wilson smirked slightly and scooted ever-so-slightly closer. "No idea," he admitted, shaking his head.
"Do we have to go to the seminars tomorrow?" He was all but whining.
"No. We can blow them off, and come up with clever lies when Cuddy asks."
"I like that idea more." If Wilson ever accused House of getting anywhere near cuddly, he knew it would be fully denied-yet that was what House was doing, given how he was closing the gap between them.
"Too bad that was meant sarcastically."
"For you, maybe. Not like you'd tell her if I skipped."
"You won't leave me alone at the conference."
"Wouldn't I? No reason for both of us to be stuck there."
"What happened to the babysitting?"
"You're not gonna cheat on me because I skipped one seminar."
"Are you sure about that?"
Both eyes opened this time. "You'd be afraid of my reaction, since your stuff is in the same room."
He smirked. "And my life, since I'd be sleeping in the same room. Or at least trying to, until you killed me and made it look like a pharmaceutical accident."
"Which wouldn't be hard, so I have nothing to worry about, which means I can skip tomorrow."
"What if I wanted you to come with me?"
"You want me to bitch at you for hours? Masochist." Now House was studying him.
"I live for your bitching, House." He closed his eyes to avoid House's stare.
"Which is why you've told me to shut up." He sounded skeptical. Again.
"I had to cover it somehow."
"You just want someone to distract you from the meds you're supposed to be learning about," House-fairly accurately-accused him.
"I can't just enjoy your company?" He smirked.
"Even I don't enjoy my own company that much."
Wilson snorted. "You're a welcome distraction," he admitted, cracking open an eye.
He smirked. "I'm not going to distract you with a blow job mid-lecture."
"Ah, my master plan is foiled."
"You need to think through these master plans better."
"Planning ahead was never my forte."
"I'd comment on that and your marriages, but given that we just had sex, it might not be the best time."
"Yes, do save the particularly painful barbs for right before sex. Allows me ample opportunity for punishment."
"You can have your orgasm after I get mine."
"Changing it into make-up sex. Clever."
"They're exes for a reason. If you were still married to them, you'd be a federal criminal, yet have an excuse to get pissed off."
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "I'd never considered polygamy until right now. Suddenly, it's promising."
House bit his shoulder hard enough to leave tooth marks.
"Ow!" Wilson yelped, and pulled his shoulder away. "I was joking," he groused, glaring.
He inspected the mark. "Claiming my territory."
He narrowed his eyes. "You could have found something a little less vampiric in nature."
"Vampiric would've been drawing blood."
"Too close for comfort," Wilson muttered, slowly returning to House's jaw range.
House dropped a kiss on the mark. "You're such a baby."
"This from the man who doesn't want to go to the long boring conference tomorrow," he retorted.
"You only want me to go to distract you."
"Isn't that a good enough reason? I'd go to distract you."
"Yes, which is in keeping with your reputation. My reputation, on the other hand, requires me to skip it."
"Your reputation," Wilson noted, "is shocking people. What better way to shock Cuddy than to come back citing information about various drugs?"
"Because she'll expect me to do work," he argued.
"Or be so shocked and confused she'd give you time off. Send you to the pysch ward for some r-and-r."
"Which equates to...no sex. So no conference."
Wilson sighed. "Is there no way to convince you?"
"You know, you haven't tried either asking or bribing," he commented.
Figured he'd just want to be asked. "Will you please come to the conference tomorrow?" He paused. "I'll give you sex."
"You’d give me sex anyway. Buy me a good lunch, and it's a deal."
"Define good."
"Better than a sandwich and soda, preferably not from the hotel."
"If it's not at another gay bar, it's a deal." He smirked.
"For lunch?" House snorted. "Of course not."
"Lunch it is."
House yawned and eyed the clock. "Damn time difference."
Wilson smirked at him. "It's just the time difference?" he questioned.
House smirked back. "No, it's also the sedatives I take and the beer from earlier."
"Right. Can't forget about those." Wilson rolled his eyes before closing them.
House shifted onto his side of the bed, leaving an empty warm spot beside Wilson, and there was more moving and rustling, presumably as he got under the blankets. He frowned at the sudden emptiness and climbed out of bed only long enough to toss his shirt over the back of a chair and go switch out the light. The room fell into darkness and, when he sunk back into the mattress, he gravitated close to House. "'Night," he murmured.
House reached toward him, finding his arm. "Night."
Wilson smiled slightly before he allowed sleep to take him, and hoped briefly before he drifted off that he didn't have any dreams of gay bars.
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 053. Trolley
Word Count: 8,067 for this part; 11,282 overall
Rating: They went and had sex in the last 2,000 or so words. NC-17.
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. Continued from here.
House pushed his way through the slowly swelling crowd, and Wilson watched him, silently cursing the man for leaving him alone in a gay bar. There was a healthy peppering of women among all the men, but considering every woman seemed to be with at least one other woman, the odds were against them flirting with him.
Besides, he was a lone man in a gay bar. Women weren't likely to seek him out.
Deciding that the best offense would be a good defense, he focused on his beer and picking at the last of his hot wings. Maybe any and all single men present would have noticed House limping away from the table and stay a healthy distance away. Like, Arizona.
Okay, maybe not Arizona. He'd settle for Santa Barbara. Anything but approaching the table, in fact, which a blond man around his age was now doing.
A deep interest in his beer-or what was left of it-was now in order. After all, the blond man could be headed somewhere else. Anywhere else. Like, the back wall of the bar.
"Hi."
Or not.
Wilson glanced up. "Uh. Hi."
The man-okay, the attractive man-gestured to House's chair. "Is anyone sitting here?"
"In the bathroom," Wilson replied almost automatically, then frowned. "Er, yes. There is."
Apparently unperturbed, he pulled out one of the chairs on the other side of the table, and did House always have to be right? "A friend of yours?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
The blond held out a hand. "Bill."
Wilson smiled weakly. Please, please, please let House come back from the bathroom. "James," he introduced, and shook his hand loosely.
"You're from out of town?" Persistent, this Bill.
"Yeah. Business. From Jersey." Short. Sweet. To the point.
Bill was about to say something when, oh thank God, that familiar cane tapped back through the crowd. House surveyed the tableau for a moment before pinning a glare that Wilson had seen actually work against Foreman on Bill as he slid into his chair and closer to Wilson. "New friend, Jimmy?" He sounded almost demonic.
"Uh, this is Bill," Wilson introduced. "Bill, this is Greg."
Bill-who apparently had a death wish-held out his hand to House. "Nice to meet you, Greg."
House just stared at the hand for a moment, then intensified the glare. "I'd say the same, if you hadn't just invited yourself to chat up my partner."
He'd said it. Good. Wilson picked up his beer and wondered if he could hide behind it. Easier said than done, probably.
Bill's expression hardened in return. "If he had a problem, he could have said something."
Were all Californians this annoying and/or suicidal? Maybe the state wasn't so nice.
"He's shy." A blatant lie, but Wilson wasn't about to call House on it while Bill was still here. "And he's taken. Bye now."
Wilson smiled slightly. "Sorry to give the wrong impression," he apologized, but he really didn't feel that sorry. Except maybe in the sense that House was going to tease him about this later. A lot.
Bill's face darkened, but he left. Finally. House kept his eyes on him until it was pretty clear the guy wasn't coming back.
"Thanks," he muttered once the coast was clear, and finished off his beer.
"You know," and now House sounded chipper, which was fine coming from anyone else, but this was House, "scaring them away works a lot better if you bother to mention your scary boyfriend will be back any second."
"I said that you were in the bathroom. I didn't think he'd sit down."
"Did you say the word boyfriend, partner, or lover at any point?"
…damn. "Isn't it assumed in a place like this?"
"That's like saying it's assumed a woman is with her husband in a non-gay bar," House replied dryly.
"Or with her boyfriend, or something."
"Which would suck for guys like you who pick up-or used to pick up-women in bars." He cocked his head. "Which would include me."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "You're planning to pick someone up here after chasing Bill away?"
"Noooo." The way he drew it out strongly implied he thought Wilson was being an idiot, which would annoy him more if he didn't feel like an idiot at the moment. "It just means people don't assume unless specific nouns are used."
"When I used to pick up women in bars, and they told me that the person they were with was in the bathroom, I didn't assume I could move in on the action." Most of the time. But House wouldn't know that.
"So you assumed they were with a significant other? How noble of you."
"Sure." He shrugged. "Unless, of course, they were with one or more other women. Then, I assumed I'd hit the jackpot."
"It's a miracle they dated you," House muttered, but he was smirking. At least he wasn't sulking any more.
Wilson smirked. "They're not the only ones," he pointed out.
"Except I knew what I was getting into, and I can be more of a bastard."
"Are you implying I'm a bastard? I'm hurt."
"You wanted subtle? Maybe you should've gone with Bill." And there was that tiny hint of jealousy.
"But I barely know him. You interrupted our bonding time."
"In other words, saved your ass from the scary gay guy." The smirk deepened.
Wilson preferred the jealousy. How to reinspire that? "Or saved my ass from a gay ol' time."
"You'd put out on a first date? Slut." The bastard was enjoying himself far too much.
"You didn't complain."
"But that wasn't the first time I met you," he countered.
"How do you know Bill and I aren't war buddies, or something?"
"Because he believed you're shy."
Yeah, come to think of it, he had. "Why'd you tell him that, anyway?"
"The other option was, 'He's a mildly homophobic bi slut,' and you really want that one said in a gay bar?" Far too amused.
"His reaction would have been priceless."
"Yet for some reason, I wasn't willing to help you get your ass kicked."
"I don't know. The 'slut' portion of the comment-" Which he did take a bit of offense to, now that he thought about it. "-may have outweighed the mildly homophobic. Especially since I'm not."
"Homophobic, or a slut? Because you are." Jackass.
"I'm neither, thanks."
House cocked his head. "Did you just claim you're not a slut? Too bad I didn't tape it. The nurses would laugh themselves into hernias."
He frowned. "Again, you never complained." God, what was it about this place that made him incapable of wit?
"Because you haven't cheated on me." He shrugged.
"Yes, right. Since I have abandoned my slutty ways for you, it's forgivable."
"Obviously. And dating half the nurses qualifies you as slutty."
Wilson rolled his eyes and snorted. "It hasn't been half."
He was really beginning to hate that smirk. "Sorry, was the estimate too low?"
"Oh. You're so funny."
"I chased off your suitor. I get to mock you."
"Even if I hadn't wanted him chased off," Wilson argued, "you would have done it anyway."
"But then you would have said something." Forget 'smug' as remotely attractive.
"Not necessarily."
House eyed him skeptically. "Right, you would have said nothing if I was scaring off someone you were interested in."
"I don't want my big, scary boyfriend after me with a cane."
"You could take me." Wilson was fairly sure, considering the gleam in House's eyes, that he didn't mean in a fight.
"I'm sure you'd like me to," he replied with a smirk.
“No, actually, the plan was the other way around.”
"I thought you wanted to be out here at the bar. Drinking to recover from the oh-so-tedious lectures." If House was going to be a pain, he could certainly prolong the torture. "Don't you want another beer?"
"You think what's-his-name's actually going to come back?" Good mood. Maybe he wouldn't abandon Wilson again.
"Only if he's particularly dense. I don't think he'd like you when you're angry."
"I don't turn big and green. Be kinda cool if I did, though."
"Might be interesting to see Cuddy's reaction."
"Yeah, she'd sedate me and figure experiments might be fun." House snorted.
Wilson smirked. "And once you woke up, you'd House smaaaash."
Was that a grin appearing on his face? Miraculous. "She'd regret giving me an office with glass walls then."
"The whole hospital is glass. Obviously a design flaw. Architects didn't consider mutants."
"You got a non-glass office, which was actually pretty stupid of her," House pointed out.
"I have some glass," he pointed out. "The door to the balcony that you like to throw things at."
House waved a hand dismissively. "But the inner walls aren't glass, which, again, wasn't the smartest thing she's ever done."
He decided to take the bait. "Why is that, again?"
A snort. "How many times have you gotten laid on your couch? Or your desk, or somewhere else in your very non-glass office?"
Wilson frowned. "Point," he conceded, "but it hasn't been that often."
"Yet more often than I get laid in my glass office."
"You just haven't perfected the art."
"And your non-glass office isn't exactly far away." Now he was smirking again.
"Is that a suggestion that you'd like to try the glass one sometime?"
"I do have blinds."
"You could make a sign. 'If the blinds are rockin', don't come a-knockin'."
"Or one that says, 'Wilson should never attempt poetry again if he wants office sex,'" he muttered.
Wilson smirked. "You prefer free verse?"
"Free something." He frowned. "How're we going to get more beer?" Apparently, he'd just realized that scaring off the server could be problematic.
"I can go get them." Wilson frowned as soon as he said it, though; there seemed to be a number of men sitting at the bar who were everything but actively engaged in conversation. "Or we can call the server back," he added.
"Or you can be a big boy and go get it."
"Last time I was a big boy," he retorted quickly, "you told a stranger I was shy and chased him off."
"I could invite him back, if you were enjoying that encounter so much."
"I was just pointing it out. Let's not be rash."
House slid his glass toward Wilson. "Beer."
Wilson sighed. He had the strangest impression he wouldn't win this one, thanks to his own big mouth. "Any particular variety, massah?" he questioned, snatching up the glass.
"That works much better when Foreman does it." House shrugged. "And Sam Adams was fine, unless you want to be adventurous and try some microbrew."
"I wouldn't want you to threaten the beer with your cane," he replied with a smirk, and went up to the bar. He could do this, he reasoned. How hard was it to have beers refilled without strangers chatting you up?
He flagged the bartender and handed him the glasses. "Can I get these refilled? Sam Adams, tap."
The bartender looked him over but, thankfully, didn't comment as he took the glasses. Wilson drummed his fingers as he waited, glancing back at House, who was apparently making a concerted effort to look as though he wasn't watching.
Maybe he'd gotten lucky with the bartender just eyeing him, but it didn't hold when another man, this one closer to House's age, stopped beside him and set down a glass. "You haven't been in before." It wasn't a question so much as a blatant invitation for information.
"I haven't been here before." The bartender appeared to have been stalled by a regular. Dammit. He sent a fleeting glance at the stranger. "Might explain it."
"Not from around here?" he pressed.
"No." Short. Simple. House was probably smirking, the bastard.
"In town on business?" Either very persistent, or very dense.
"Conference." God, how much longer was the bartender going to talk?
"Here with anyone?"
"Actually, yes." Finally, the bartender actually reached for the tap. Only a few more seconds of…this. He jerked his head in the general direction of their table, and House. "See the one with the cane?"
The stranger glanced in House's direction and arched an eyebrow disdainfully. "You're with him?"
"No. I was pointing him out because I thought you might be interested." Wilson accepted his glasses from the bartender with a self-satisfied smile. "Otherwise, yes."
"That's a waste." The man shrugged and handed the bartender his glass. "Usual, John."
"I know. We should really be having sex somewhere instead of drinking here." Wilson wasn't sure why he said it, but he contented himself with a smirk as he left the bar and headed back to the table.
House arched an eyebrow as Wilson neared their table, which was disturbingly like the look the other guy had had. "Chased this one off all by yourself?"
Wilson handed over his beer, shrugging. "Jealous you didn't get to threaten him?"
"Surprised you remembered you have a spine." House took the beer.
"There are situations in which I can summon up my reserves," he replied evenly, settling into his chair.
House eyed him, and it wasn't the comfortable, 'I'm checking out a hot piece of ass,' look. No, this was his annoying, 'There's something you're not telling me, and I'm going to find out what it is, even if it kills the kids,' look.
He forced himself to ignore it as best he can. "So, any other soul-scarring field trips planned?"
"You only call up those reserves when someone pisses you off." House was apparently ignoring the question. That was rude.
"Maybe he pissed me off."
"It would be logical." His version of fishing. Great.
"That I was pissed off because he pissed me off? Why, House, you are a genius."
"Which leaves the question of how he pissed you off."
Wilson took a sip of his beer. "Does it matter?"
"Considering we're sharing a bed? Yeah."
"Fine. He was an asshole. Happy?"
House shook his head. "Generic descriptor. Also applies to me."
He was going to want specifics, wasn't he? Fine. Fake specifics, it was. "Different kind of asshole." He shrugged. "Assholier."
"It wasn't just hitting on you, because you're used to that." Only House would try a differential diagnosis on what had pissed him off. The bitch about it was that House might actually figure it out that way.
"I thought we agreed that men hitting on me made me uncomfortable. Mildly homophobic slut, remember?"
"No, I agreed that. You claimed to be neither."
"I'll retract my statement, then." Especially if the retraction ended the conversation.
"Okay, so you're a mildly homophobic slut. Still doesn't mean guys hitting on you pisses you off." The man was a bulldog.
"It could, though. Theoretically."
"The one sitting at our table didn't, but the one at the bar did?" He sounded skeptical.
"Asshole hypothesis. The one at our table was not an asshole."
"I'm gonna disagree with that."
Wilson snorted. "And why is that?"
"The 'not leaving' part brought him into the category."
"He left."
"Eventually, after you finally bothered to speak up."
"If he was an asshole," Wilson clarified, "the other one was Cuddy. PMSing. No chocolate in sight."
House winced. "How'd he manage to qualify for 'bitch on the warpath' status?"
…maybe that hadn't been the best description. "On your graduated scale? Too forward."
Definitely not the best description, judging by the developing glower. Maybe correcting House's impression before he went off and started a fight would be a good idea.
"Not about me," he reassured quickly, gritting his teeth.
"Then what?" That deadly expression wasn't leaving.
He wasn't going to get out of this, was he? "I pointed you out."
"And?" How could he make a single word spell death for the other guy?
"He was…less than enthusiastic."
"About you being unavailable? Hardly surprising, but not enough to piss you off."
"He was…rude."
"It's like trying to get a patient to tell what illegal drugs they're taking," House muttered.
Wilson smirked. "No, that's probably easier."
He downed about half his beer in one long swallow. "So he was rude. That's somehow unique to him? Look at who you're here with."
"He was rude about my choice of company."
"Rude as in, 'You're with a cripple,' or rude as in, 'He's too old for you'?" He sounded amused. Again.
"A combination."
"And that pissed you off?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to take strangers criticizing you lightly? I need to read up in the code of conduct."
"You look maybe thirty-three-which Cuddy hates you for, by the way. I, on the other hand, look like fifty's well behind me."
"He was at least as old as you."
"But did he look as old as I do? No flattering now-you'll make my ego swell. Or something else."
Wilson smirked. "That's incentive for me to flatter, you know."
House gave him a 'duh' look in lieu of replying.
"He looked fifty years older, at the very least. You, you could be an elementary school student on that scale." And God, please let that be the end of it.
"So protective," House mocked. Of course he would-like he'd let that go? "It's like a puppy snarling at someone for yelling at their person."
"Chase is the puppy. I am…" He paused, pretending to consider. "Actually, I have no idea."
"But Chase wouldn't snarl. He's a miniature poodle. You can be…a German shepherd."
"And what kind of dog are you, as long as we're speculating?"
"A three-legged Doberman," House shot back, almost too fast.
Wilson smirked slightly. "You've given this entirely too much thought, haven't you?"
"It's something to do when General Hospital isn't on and you're busy. Foreman thinks he's a Rottweiler, but he's a Labrador, and Cameron…is a King Charles."
"And Cuddy is a…collie?"
"Herding us all into our places, that's her."
"Nipping at ankles, no less."
"Very annoying of her. Maybe we should bite back."
"I've heard of cat fights, but dog fights…?"
"Unless you want me to come up with types of cats we can be. Dog fights can be worse."
"As amusing as that speculation might be, I'll pass. And start clearing more time in my schedule, lest you start choosing what types of fish we all are."
House snorted. "Marine life? Dolphins, of course. Me, anyway."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Forget I mentioned it."
"Then give me something else to think about," he suggested.
"If I had a suggestion of what else there is to think about, I would have suggested it. Instead, I am discovering that you get too bored too often."
"That's somehow news?" House gave him an exaggeratedly surprised look.
Wilson smirked slightly. "Shocks me, too. You would think I'd have learned."
"All these years, and you're still learning." He shook his head. "What a disappointment."
"I blame you, somehow."
"You blame me because you haven't learned about me? Interesting logic."
"Yes, well, we can't all be experts on the human psyche like you are." Wilson took a long swig of his beer.
House cocked his head at him. "Uh, I go to you to figure out what people are thinking. Are you telling me my source is faulty?"
"You go to me, and yet so rarely listen to me. Or believe me, for that matter. Strange, how that works."
"I listen, even if I don't take what you say to heart. Besides, you go and change your mind about advice, which is cheating."
He snorted, smirking. "Again, I need to re-read the rule book."
"I think we have a copy back at the hotel." House knocked back the rest of his beer.
Ah, and back to that topic. He smirked as House set down his glass. "Is that a suggestion that you're done trying to scar me for life? House, have you lost your touch?"
"We do have two more nights in this city," he pointed out. "I'm sure you'd have tons of fun at other bars around here I can think of."
"It'd get old, I'm sure, once the novelty of the exercise wore off."
"Oh, I don't know. Dragging you to a leather bar could have interesting results."
Wilson paused and studied him for a moment. Yeah, House was serious. Or serious enough. "Again," he replied, and reached for his wallet, "I'm not Chase."
"Why do you keep bringing up Chase? It's disturbing that you keep involving him in our relationship." He wasn't actually annoyed, Wilson decided; more like curious and interested but trying to hide it.
"Puppies and leather remind me of Chase." He tossed a couple bills onto the table; it was more than enough, and he doubted the server would really want to come by long enough to figure out the exact cost of everything and then bring change. "Which is definitely an odd combination."
"And kinda weird." Great, now he was thinking about it. At least he was also standing.
Wilson shrugged as he stood, too. "We're in a gay bar, in San Francisco. I think the situation was weird with or without Chase."
"Except for the part where we're both a little gay."
"Only a little?" He smirked.
"Fine, about half gay. Happy, Dr. I-am-not-a-homophobe?" House turned toward the door.
"I am not a homophobe," Wilson reminded him, and, if only to prove him wrong, patted him warmly on the ass before moving to walk next to him.
"No, you're a parrot," he replied, apparently unperturbed, as he navigated the crowd.
"A parrot?" Wilson smirked. "Greggie want a cracker?"
Said 'Greggie' cast him a glare with nothing behind it. "If you're the parrot, Jimmy, you get the cracker."
"I thought you were saving that for back at the hotel."
House copped a feel of Wilson's ass, failing to remove his hand. "Unless you want to try having sex in the restroom of a gay bar…"
"I wouldn't want the other patrons to think they could get a piece of you," he replied with a shrug.
"So likely, after that last encounter you had."
"Obviously, the man had poor taste."
"Flatterer. Could be you're the one with poor taste."
"You've always had positive things to say about my wives."
"Their looks, maybe." House was smirking again as they reached the door.
"So my taste can't be that bad." Wilson pushed the door open and stepped out, holding the door for House whether he liked it or not.
"This time you went for intelligence instead. And, you know, it's my leg that's crippled, not my arm." House raised an eyebrow at him.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Next time, I'll drop the door on you. And who says I didn't go for both?"
"Everyone but you, apparently."
"And you're so often one to trust others' opinions."
"Can't trust yours anymore. You keep changing it." Something like that had been said earlier, hadn't it?
"And what other opinion have I changed again?"
"What people are thinking, to start. And how I should act toward people." House glanced down the street, presumably to see if there were any empty taxis around.
"Ah, yes. That. Well, blame the bar, I suppose. Changing all my opinions."
"Interesting side effect of getting you out of your comfort zone."
He smirked. "Would you rather it became my comfort zone?"
"Only if you're not doing it to get other guys." A cab, its roof light on, came cruising down Castro, and House flagged it down.
"Would that disappoint you? I thought you were the one open to new experiences."
"As long as the new experiences don't mean I have to share. I failed that part of preschool." He climbed into the taxi and leaned forward. "Marriot on Fourth."
Wilson smirked. "Well, that certainly limits the possibilities," he commented as he settled into the back of the cab.
The driver peeled away from the curb-he wouldn't be out of place in New York-as House replied. "I didn't say no other people, just no sharing. Which is a logistical challenge."
"That undoubtedly leaves you in a much better position than I."
"Oh, I don't know. You're supposed to be smart. Figure something out that would be better for you, if you can."
"They all involve sharing, sadly."
"Then I come out on top." House shrugged in the half-dark of the cab. One thing about this city, it was definitely well-lit. "Not going to complain about that."
"In more way than one, I am sure."
"Obviously. How else am I going to benefit from some nebulous third party?"
Smirking, Wilson shrugged. "I can think of other activities," he replied somewhat coyly.
"Oh, he's being secretive now."
"You're the one who's supposed to be imaginative."
"You really want me to do a differential on your thoughts on possible sexual positions in the back of a cab?" He had a point.
"It wasn't positions so much as alternatives," he replied casually, and really hoped the cabbie wasn't interested.
"Okay, alternatives. The question stands." House tilted his head back in a way that meant he was actually going to do it.
"Oral," Wilson mumbled. "Specifically."
He smirked triumphantly. "Was that so hard to say?"
"I thought you enjoyed making other people uncomfortable, not me," he muttered.
"There's no one else around, which means you have to suffer."
"Usually, you can find a stranger or two."
"In this case, the only stranger has control of our lives, and I don't think she'd appreciate my commentary." Wait, wasn't the cabbie a guy?
Yeah, definitely a guy. "He," Wilson corrected.
Up front, the driver snorted. "Your boyfriend's right."
"Details." House didn't seem bothered by his assumption. "The point stands."
"Never stopped you before," Wilson returned, smiling slightly.
"They rarely literally hold my life in their hands," House pointed out. "Though I could try pissing off the pilot when we go home, see how that works."
"The air marshal would shoot you before you got to the cabin."
"Another person I shouldn't piss off."
"Are you getting soft in your old age? So many people you aren't willing to piss off."
"The driver holds more than my life, and getting shot would suck," he countered.
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "What else does the driver hold?"
"The future of my sex life without hiring hookers."
He blinked. "I think that is the least romantic romantic sentiment you have ever expressed. I am both touched and disturbed."
"You expected something along the lines of, 'You, the love of my life'?" House snorted. "Who do you think I am, Cameron?"
"Oh, I didn't expect anything at all romantic. Hence the surprise."
"If that did count as romantic, I'd say I'd solved your marriage issues."
"Far too late, in any case," Wilson reminded him.
"Assuming you decide against a fourth try, that is true. Too bad. Could've stayed with one of the pretty wives."
"Oh, but House," Wilson teased, batting his eyelashes, "not one of them are nearly as pretty as you."
The driver made a choking sound up front. House, however, seemed far less disturbed. Wilson couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. "If you wanted a pretty guy, you should have gone for Chase. Though I doubt he'd be willing to fuck you without explicit instructions."
"Yes, but I would miss the witty commentary on my every move," Wilson retorted.
"And it'd piss you off if I was commenting on your relationship with an eager-to-please Brit. Good choice."
"Yes, well, I weighed your relative obnoxiousness in each possible homosexual relationship open to me, and realized you'd be least obnoxious if I dated you. It was a very scientific process."
"So that fucking that I remember happening before we got together, that was a hallucination?"
"It was the first step in my master plan. Which, as you may notice, worked."
The taxi stopped outside the hotel. "Eleven-forty," the driver told them.
"He'll get it." House smirked at Wilson. "Paying has to have factored into the plan."
Wilson mock-glared at him. "I retract having good taste and replace it with expensive taste," he grumbled, and fished the fare from his pocket. He handed it to the cabbie before getting out of the car. "You could try paying for something sometime. Or is that outside your comfort zone?"
"Paid for the townhouse. You've got making up to do." House closed the door and started for the hotel.
"Ah, right. You shouldn't have paid for your house. Forgot how that works." Wilson rolled his eyes as he followed.
"You're living there," House pointed out. "And didn't pay for it. Therefore, despite all the lunches and everything, I'm ahead."
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "Room and board? How very college dorm of you."
"Major difference being that my college roommate didn't make twice what I did, and he wasn't sleeping in my bed." He seemed to reconsider that. "He wasn't supposed to, anyway."
"I'm not sure I want to know."
"My bed was closer to the door, and he came back too drunk to go further." House smirked. "Which is stupid when your roommate is pre-med and…me."
"I retract my previous statement," Wilson replied, "and amend it to, 'I definitely do not want to know.'"
"Smart move." House jabbed the up button.
"I have my moments."
House didn't comment on the intelligence thing, which was expected; he might mock Wilson for everything else, but something in House's personal code kept him from attacking his brain. "Though knowing would prepare you in case I do something similar to you."
"There are things you haven't done to me?"
"That's a loaded question."
Wilson smirked. "I learned from the best."
"There are things I haven't done to you. Yet." The elevator arrived, and House stepped on, hitting the button for their floor. "Give me time and incentive."
He smirked as he followed. "I should have guessed it was only a matter of time."
"And incentive. You'd have to do something fairly stupid."
"Such as?"
"Acting on this obsession you seem to have with Chase comes to mind." He didn't want the jealousy back now, but it looked like he might have to deal with it.
"I mentioned him twice. Are you sure you're not the one with the obsession?"
"You kept saying you're not Chase, which could imply…actually, I don't know what it could imply."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Please don't get Freudian on me now."
House leered, badly, at him. "Can I still get on you?"
"If you keep Freud out of it."
"No psychoanalyzing why you're with me instead of a woman mid-coitus? How boring."
"Yes, well, I try to be boring in all things. Glad to see I'm succeeding."
"Self-deprecating isn't a good look on you," House informed him.
"And smug was never a good look on you."
"Another lie, like the stubble?" He was feigning offense now. "Is our whole relationship a lie?"
Wilson sighed. "I had hoped you wouldn't figure it out."
"We're discovering all kinds of flaws you have in relationships tonight."
"And now, you understand 'ignorance is bliss' all the better."
"Forewarned is forearmed," House quipped back. "Although I do have the advantage of knowing how you screw up in relationships because of watching you do it over and over."
Wilson smirked. "And you have a better artillery than any of the wives. Or all of them."
"Plus, I have the advantage of working with you." The elevator doors slid open. "Makes it easier to keep an eye on you."
"Ah, yes. I need to be babysat. Forgot about that."
"It is an advantage the wives didn't have." House looked down the hall. "Which room are we again?"
"You can't even remember that?" Wilson chided.
"Was I supposed to?"
"Four fifteen."
"Way to avoid the question." He found the appropriate room and slid his key card into the slot.
"Again, learned from the master."
"Didn't learn very well."
"It's a work in progress."
He smirked devilishly. "Anything else you're learning that needs further help?"
"I don't know. Is there anything you think I should be learning?" He arched an eyebrow.
"Not so much learning as practicing."
Wilson smirked. "Practicing piano? My mastery of the Spanish language?"
House made a face at the suggestions. "Both of those are firmly in the learning category."
"Oh. So then…practicing my knitting?"
"Only if we're expecting and you failed to inform me."
Wilson frowned. "And here, I was going to plan a big dinner and tell you over dessert."
House snorted at him. "Sorry to screw up your plans like that."
"Yes, well, that's all right. I know you'll be an excellent father." He smirked.
"Would that make you the mother?" House mused.
"I haven't figured out all the logistics, honestly."
"Like where you'd be carrying it? You realize Cuddy would go nuts trying to keep us from ruining the kid completely."
"Only if I didn't go nuts from the same first," Wilson replied. "You'd corrupt a child before age three."
"Define 'corrupt'."
He paused, considering this. "I'm not sure, but it involves a toddler wandering around and declaring that everybody lies and that Cuddy is a bad lady."
House gave a snort of laughter. "Now that would just be funny, especially since the blame would automatically be placed on me."
"I would not teach a child those things."
"Not that you'd admit to, anyway."
"And certainly not so young," he added, smirking.
"Oh, right. Wait until it's six or seven and can learn to terrorize people while seeming nice. Far better." House sprawled out on the bed and toed off his shoes.
He shrugged. "Has to learn the family business sometime," he offered, smiling appreciative at House's lounging. "Comfortable?"
"Mmm. Also trying to figure out why we're discussing a medical impossibility."
"I believe you were comparing me to a pregnant woman, or something similar." Wilson kicked off his own shoes and joined House on the bed.
"You said something about knitting," House reminded him, turning toward him.
"Ah, right. Because everyone who knits is pregnant. That was it." He smirked slightly.
"Something like that. If you were, it'd be impressive."
"For me more than you. Nothing like finding out you were secretly a woman all these years."
"Though it would explain how you don't have twenty little Wilsons running around."
"Yes. Because contraceptives are simply for decoration."
"Only ninety-nine percent effective," House argued. "Statistically speaking, you should have at least one somewhere. Or should have had one."
Wilson shrugged. "I try not to think too hard about the numbers." He paused, glancing at House. "If I'd known we were going to discuss theoretical children, I would have stayed at the bar."
"We got sidetracked from the original plan." House shrugged.
"Does that mean you're preferring this discussion to the original plan?"
The hand suddenly cupping his groin contradicted that idea. "Definitely. So much more interesting."
Wilson sucked in a breath. "I can imagine," he forced out, gritting his teeth. The bastard.
"Though it is more fun to practice making the theoretical children than to discuss them," he continued, reaching for Wilson's fly.
"Hard to practice making things we can't have," he muttered.
"There's a reason they're theoretical." Now the hand was sliding into his pants and along his boxers.
"So, really, it's just all an excuse to have sex," Wilson surmised, reaching forward to ghost his own hand over House's fly-after all, he couldn't let House have all the fun.
"It took you that long to figure it out?"
"I blame the hand in my pants."
House squeezed gently. "That could be distracting."
"A little." Wilson's coherent thoughts were starting to run into his groin, but he didn't stop himself from blatantly groping House through his jeans.
"Wasn't oral mentioned at some point tonight?" The hand was leaving, which was just mean of House.
"For a nebulous third, sure."
"Then I'll withdraw the offer."
"Oh, well, as long as it's you."
House nudged his side with an elbow. "Then get your pants off. Little hard to blow you well through fabric."
"Yes sir." He obliged House perhaps a little too eagerly, shedding his pants and boxers quickly.
House stripped off his shirt and jeans and positioned himself between Wilson's legs. "Move up, or I'm gonna fall off the end of the bed."
Wilson smirked. "You don't have to be so demanding now that all the big, scary gay men are gone," he noted as he wriggled his way up the bed.
He smirked up at Wilson. "You did call me sir. And are you saying I'm not big or scary?"
"Not to me. Other people find you suitably terrifying."
"I resent the 'not big' idea," House said, and took Wilson halfway into his mouth before getting a reply.
Wilson let out a strangled half-response that was an attempt at a correction, the start of the words dissolving into a groan. House was entirely too good at this; Wilson suspected, when he was capable of thought, that he was better than most of the women Wilson had been with because he knew what felt good. Right then, though, coherent thought was pretty far down on his list, somewhere below, “Sell the Volvo in this lifetime.” Then House swallowed him down, and that was enough to drive any remnant of that list out of his mind.
Wilson groaned and moved his hands to tangle House's hair, his hips trembling as he forced himself to not thrust up and fuck House's mouth in earnest. He'd been hornier than he'd realized, and could feel the desperate burn building already. House's mouth dragged back up slowly, his tongue pressing firmly, and his hand wrapped around the base of Wilson's cock, the other cupping his balls.
He gripped House's head harder, gritting his teeth and then groaning through them. Damn, was there a guidebook House had discovered, read, and committed to memory? House's…thumb, maybe, brushed against his perineum, pressing harder as he lowered his mouth to swallow again, and God, he was just too good at that.
So good, in fact, that the pressure of his mouth and tongue as he swallowed overcame any and all restrain Wilson still had and he groaned out some combination of curse and coherence as he came, his fingers digging into House's skull.
House pulled up slowly and smirked at him. "That may have been a record."
Wilson took a long, deep breath before shooting House the most annoyed glance he could muster. "I'm sorry. I'll give you TMJ next time."
"That's assuming I have that much patience." He climbed back up the bed to lie beside Wilson and stripped off his boxers.
"True," he admitted, and then leaned over to kiss House deeply; at least some foreplay was in order if he was at all going to return the favor. House returned the kiss, nipping at his lip, but made an annoyed sound when his hands found Wilson's shirt under his hands.
Wilson ignored his annoyance and busied himself, instead, with running his hands along House's chest and sides, bringing one all the way down and across his hip bone, teasingly close but not quite to his cock.
As House broke the kiss, his hands slid up under Wilson's shirt. "I blow you, and what do I get? Teasing."
"And groping me through my pants wasn't teasing?" he retorted, reaching around to kiss House's neck. His hand found his erection and squeezed it firmly, just in case House was thinking about arguing.
"Not my fault you felt the need to wear pants," he muttered, hips rising off the mattress.
"Oh. Right. I'll just stop wearing them, then. Especially to gay bars." He squeezed House again, punctuating the motion with a nip on House's neck.
"Long as no one else touches." His voice was getting ragged. Good.
Wilson smirked against his neck. "Ah, yes. The territorialism. I'd forgotten." He dipped his head lower and trailed kisses down House's collarbone and then chest, using his hand to start a slow pumping rhythm.
The lack of any coherent reply meant House was enjoying himself thoroughly at this point. His hands left Wilson's back and fingers tangled in his hair. Wilson dropped a few more kisses onto House's lower chest and then stomach before scooting the last short distance down the bed and running his tongue over the pre-cum dampened head of House's cock, his hand still employing the previous rhythm.
Wilson figured, while there was definitely something to be said for House's fast-and-hard method, his had its advantages, too. For one, House actually kept quiet, and he'd never complained-which he would if there was anything he disliked.
And then, of course, there was the fact that it was revenge for House's constant verbal (and physical) teasing. He pressed his tongue to House's head and kept pumping before dropping his hand to the base of House's cock and lowering his mouth more fully, taking him in slowly. House was apparently slightly less eager than Wilson had been, since his fingers barely tightened for a moment in Wilson's hair before relaxing again. Was that a muffled groan he'd just heard? He thought it was.
He swallowed around House's length-show him to muffle his groans-and tightened his mouth, sucking him in earnest. The hand around his base gripped more firmly, too, and Wilson employed his empty hand in tracing the inside of House's thigh.
This groan wasn't muffled, even if it was still quiet. He wondered fleetingly if House had been this quiet before, then decided it really didn't matter. Instead, he traced his hand up House's thigh and to his balls, stroking his fingers over his skin while continuing his other ministrations. House's hold tightened again, not enough to hurt but enough to tell Wilson that he was probably getting close at this point.
Taking the hint, he pressed forward, taking more of House into his mouth and swallowing hard around him, slipping his fingers just beyond his balls and pressing on the flesh there-turnabout, after all, was fair play. He felt House's hips barely rise before being pressed back down against the mattress, and House pulsed into his mouth, salty-bitterness on his tongue.
After swallowing, Wilson pulled slowly away and climbed up to lie next to him. "That wasn't a marathon on your part, either," he pointed out.
"You cheated somehow," House mumbled. He'd get like this sometimes, refusing to move much after he'd had an orgasm.
"Ah. Yes. Cheating at sex. My specialty."
House cracked an eye open. "You, of all people, should not use the words 'cheat' and 'sex' in the same sentence."
Wilson snorted. "Right," he agreed, settling beside House and very idly bringing a hand to trace up his side.
House tossed an arm across Wilson's shoulders. "So much for practicing making theoretical children."
"Tomorrow is another day."
"Be kind of hard to have tomorrow be the same day," he agreed.
"Smart ass," Wilson muttered.
"More interested in your ass, actually."
"You only want me for my body, don't you?"
"N-of course. What else do you possibly have going for you?"
Wilson smirked slightly and scooted ever-so-slightly closer. "No idea," he admitted, shaking his head.
"Do we have to go to the seminars tomorrow?" He was all but whining.
"No. We can blow them off, and come up with clever lies when Cuddy asks."
"I like that idea more." If Wilson ever accused House of getting anywhere near cuddly, he knew it would be fully denied-yet that was what House was doing, given how he was closing the gap between them.
"Too bad that was meant sarcastically."
"For you, maybe. Not like you'd tell her if I skipped."
"You won't leave me alone at the conference."
"Wouldn't I? No reason for both of us to be stuck there."
"What happened to the babysitting?"
"You're not gonna cheat on me because I skipped one seminar."
"Are you sure about that?"
Both eyes opened this time. "You'd be afraid of my reaction, since your stuff is in the same room."
He smirked. "And my life, since I'd be sleeping in the same room. Or at least trying to, until you killed me and made it look like a pharmaceutical accident."
"Which wouldn't be hard, so I have nothing to worry about, which means I can skip tomorrow."
"What if I wanted you to come with me?"
"You want me to bitch at you for hours? Masochist." Now House was studying him.
"I live for your bitching, House." He closed his eyes to avoid House's stare.
"Which is why you've told me to shut up." He sounded skeptical. Again.
"I had to cover it somehow."
"You just want someone to distract you from the meds you're supposed to be learning about," House-fairly accurately-accused him.
"I can't just enjoy your company?" He smirked.
"Even I don't enjoy my own company that much."
Wilson snorted. "You're a welcome distraction," he admitted, cracking open an eye.
He smirked. "I'm not going to distract you with a blow job mid-lecture."
"Ah, my master plan is foiled."
"You need to think through these master plans better."
"Planning ahead was never my forte."
"I'd comment on that and your marriages, but given that we just had sex, it might not be the best time."
"Yes, do save the particularly painful barbs for right before sex. Allows me ample opportunity for punishment."
"You can have your orgasm after I get mine."
"Changing it into make-up sex. Clever."
"They're exes for a reason. If you were still married to them, you'd be a federal criminal, yet have an excuse to get pissed off."
Wilson arched an eyebrow. "I'd never considered polygamy until right now. Suddenly, it's promising."
House bit his shoulder hard enough to leave tooth marks.
"Ow!" Wilson yelped, and pulled his shoulder away. "I was joking," he groused, glaring.
He inspected the mark. "Claiming my territory."
He narrowed his eyes. "You could have found something a little less vampiric in nature."
"Vampiric would've been drawing blood."
"Too close for comfort," Wilson muttered, slowly returning to House's jaw range.
House dropped a kiss on the mark. "You're such a baby."
"This from the man who doesn't want to go to the long boring conference tomorrow," he retorted.
"You only want me to go to distract you."
"Isn't that a good enough reason? I'd go to distract you."
"Yes, which is in keeping with your reputation. My reputation, on the other hand, requires me to skip it."
"Your reputation," Wilson noted, "is shocking people. What better way to shock Cuddy than to come back citing information about various drugs?"
"Because she'll expect me to do work," he argued.
"Or be so shocked and confused she'd give you time off. Send you to the pysch ward for some r-and-r."
"Which equates to...no sex. So no conference."
Wilson sighed. "Is there no way to convince you?"
"You know, you haven't tried either asking or bribing," he commented.
Figured he'd just want to be asked. "Will you please come to the conference tomorrow?" He paused. "I'll give you sex."
"You’d give me sex anyway. Buy me a good lunch, and it's a deal."
"Define good."
"Better than a sandwich and soda, preferably not from the hotel."
"If it's not at another gay bar, it's a deal." He smirked.
"For lunch?" House snorted. "Of course not."
"Lunch it is."
House yawned and eyed the clock. "Damn time difference."
Wilson smirked at him. "It's just the time difference?" he questioned.
House smirked back. "No, it's also the sedatives I take and the beer from earlier."
"Right. Can't forget about those." Wilson rolled his eyes before closing them.
House shifted onto his side of the bed, leaving an empty warm spot beside Wilson, and there was more moving and rustling, presumably as he got under the blankets. He frowned at the sudden emptiness and climbed out of bed only long enough to toss his shirt over the back of a chair and go switch out the light. The room fell into darkness and, when he sunk back into the mattress, he gravitated close to House. "'Night," he murmured.
House reached toward him, finding his arm. "Night."
Wilson smiled slightly before he allowed sleep to take him, and hoped briefly before he drifted off that he didn't have any dreams of gay bars.