First Kisses (4/13) for lilallisun "The Experiment"
iv. The Experiment
A/N: Prompt was: denial and an experiment
Given me by: lilallisun
Lying and denial, they were Wilson's main methods of protection, and Jimmy lied to no one so much as he lied to himself.
Denial was so ingrained in James Wilson, House figured that nothing short of a near-death experience could get him to admit anything. Even then, he'd probably put some kind of spin on it.
The most provoking part of it all was that House knew Wilson wanted him. He wasn't exactly sure how deeply that want extended, if it was simply emotional, or physical, or more. It was hard to say with Wilson. He played his cards close to the vest, for all he came across as the proverbial open book.
There was nothing for it. When in doubt, experiment. Trial and error, the only tools in House's arsenal that wouldn't wound this fragile thing between them.
Whatever the hell it was. But the fact remained, there was something there, and House would not give up until he found out what. He simply couldn't let it alone. It just wasn't in his nature.
And so the experiments began. Cornering Wilson in crowded elevators, in solitary hallways, in patient's rooms, on balconies and in the men's room.
It was there, though, every time, the slight widening of the eyes, the subtle quickening of heart rate, the breath that was held in an attempt to not appear to be breathing too hard.
Success.
Thus began the second phase of experimentation, hands brushing together, seemingly-accidental touches to non-work-appropriate areas, the lowering of his voice into the sultry and seductive range.
Again, success.
The third phase of experimentation was barely underway when the subject finally snapped.
"What is going on with you, House?"
"Conducting an experiment," House answered, simply, almost innocently.
"Well, cut it out," Wilson says, irritated, "You're driving me crazy."
"Is that so?" House says in his most doctorly tone. Wilson didn't even know House had a doctorly tone.
"Yes...look, if you want to say something, just say it. It's not like you to beat around the bush," Wilson says.
House takes this as an invitation. "It's be easier to show you."
Wilson says simply, and (House is almost certain) invitingly, "Then show me."
He kisses Wilson, hard, hard enough to make it hurt, to make it real. Wilson kisses him back, just as forcefully, angrily, dragging at House's shoulders as if to keep him still, keep him close. He bites suddenly, and if he's drawn blood, House doesn't care in the slightest.
"I suppose you call this a success?" Wilson asks, growling, and the sound of it only turns House on that much more.
"What would you call it?" House's knees are weak, and it has nothing at all to do with his cane or the infarction.
"Insanity." Which, of course, it is.
There's no denying it.
A/N: Prompt was: denial and an experiment
Given me by: lilallisun
Lying and denial, they were Wilson's main methods of protection, and Jimmy lied to no one so much as he lied to himself.
Denial was so ingrained in James Wilson, House figured that nothing short of a near-death experience could get him to admit anything. Even then, he'd probably put some kind of spin on it.
The most provoking part of it all was that House knew Wilson wanted him. He wasn't exactly sure how deeply that want extended, if it was simply emotional, or physical, or more. It was hard to say with Wilson. He played his cards close to the vest, for all he came across as the proverbial open book.
There was nothing for it. When in doubt, experiment. Trial and error, the only tools in House's arsenal that wouldn't wound this fragile thing between them.
Whatever the hell it was. But the fact remained, there was something there, and House would not give up until he found out what. He simply couldn't let it alone. It just wasn't in his nature.
And so the experiments began. Cornering Wilson in crowded elevators, in solitary hallways, in patient's rooms, on balconies and in the men's room.
It was there, though, every time, the slight widening of the eyes, the subtle quickening of heart rate, the breath that was held in an attempt to not appear to be breathing too hard.
Success.
Thus began the second phase of experimentation, hands brushing together, seemingly-accidental touches to non-work-appropriate areas, the lowering of his voice into the sultry and seductive range.
Again, success.
The third phase of experimentation was barely underway when the subject finally snapped.
"What is going on with you, House?"
"Conducting an experiment," House answered, simply, almost innocently.
"Well, cut it out," Wilson says, irritated, "You're driving me crazy."
"Is that so?" House says in his most doctorly tone. Wilson didn't even know House had a doctorly tone.
"Yes...look, if you want to say something, just say it. It's not like you to beat around the bush," Wilson says.
House takes this as an invitation. "It's be easier to show you."
Wilson says simply, and (House is almost certain) invitingly, "Then show me."
He kisses Wilson, hard, hard enough to make it hurt, to make it real. Wilson kisses him back, just as forcefully, angrily, dragging at House's shoulders as if to keep him still, keep him close. He bites suddenly, and if he's drawn blood, House doesn't care in the slightest.
"I suppose you call this a success?" Wilson asks, growling, and the sound of it only turns House on that much more.
"What would you call it?" House's knees are weak, and it has nothing at all to do with his cane or the infarction.
"Insanity." Which, of course, it is.
There's no denying it.