Kick-start drabbles (1-10); House/Wilson
I'm calling these Kick-start drabbles, bc I asked for one word prompts in the hopes that it would kick start my brain into House/Wilson mode.
I've gotten a really good response, so I'll be doing more of these soon.
One of these is gen, but I'm not telling which. ^^
i. Routine for killthwight
Every day, it's the same old thing.
Morning coffee with Wilson, bitch at Cuddy, fuck with the kiddies.
Snap at the patient, bully nurses, lunch with Wilson.
Throw insults at Chase, flirt with Cameron (who still thinks it might be real), pick a fight with Foreman, retreat to Wilson's office.
Browbeat the patient's family, order a couple tests, browbreat the family some more, call Wilson in for a consult.
General Hospital and a daily lecture from Wilson over afternoon coffee.
Clinic duty, Wilson waiting at the nurse's desk with snarky sympathy and a dinner invite.
He's starting to see a pattern.
...........................
ii. Restraints for vamp2puppy
Wilson keeps his emotions under strict lock and key, always has.
He never raises his voice, never throws the china, only curses under extreme provocation.
House touches off something within, though, passions he didn't think he was capable of feeling.
Love in all its many forms, bright and blinding and beautiful. Lust, the fuel to that particular fire, and rage lurking beneath it all.
He knows House will not rest until his demons are set loose from their cage, and it will destroy them both.
His rage is not at House, but at the lust he feels for House.
...........................
iii. Cacophany for michelleann68
He keeps his earphones in for as long as possible, trying to drown out the menagerie.
It's no use, everyone is always talking at him, problems and questions and complaints.
He can't think, his brain a tornadic blur, he's aggravated, frustrated, and that makes him snappish and irritable.
Wilson strolls in, and with him, blissful silence, and the trio disappears into the hall at his disapproving glare.
For the first time in days, his jaw muscles unclench, as he relaxes bonelessly into his chair.
They sit and drink coffee together, quiet and companiable.
Thankfully, they've never needed words between them.
...........................
iv. Incentive for saara_zaara
You can't just expect House to do what you want without offering something in return.
Managing House is a lot like managing a small child, the secret is bribery.
Every interaction with House requires presence of mind and forethought, you have to be
willing to pay up.
Even when its just something as childish as watching you writhe in pain, House demands
payment for his services.
Wilson's devised an incentive program, and if House knows of its existence, he's playing dumb.
Food for conversation, money for trust, information for information, etc., etc.
Absently, Wilson wonders what sex will get him.
...........................
v. Identity for crowson75
Wilson isn't always Wilson.
Sometimes he's James (at home, with his wife, bored to tears and waiting for morning), sometimes he's Jim (with Mom and Dad, sitting precariously on the edge of the plastic-slipcovered sofa), and sometimes he's Jimmy (with House, slim fingers exploring every inch of his body, crying out sharply with each harsh, painfully pleasant thrust).
Everywhere else, he's Wilson. To his colleagues, to his boss, to his underlings. To the man at the gas station and the woman at the coffee bar, he's Dr. Wilson, but usually it's just Wilson.
His other names don't always suit him.
...........................
vi. Perfume for saltyj
House has always prided himself on his olfactory prowess, even as a child.
He uses his nose as a diagnostic tool, often astounding patients by diagnosing their problem without ever looking at their file...or them.
Walking in the door to their apartment, he picks up the distinct odor of perfume trailing into their bedroom. He sniffs the air experimentally, thinking 'Chanel', 'expensive', and 'slut, cunt, whore'.
He knows what he's going to see before he even opens the door, and he isn't even all that shocked.
He's just surprised it took so long.
...........................
vii. Grew for theninth
When he was a boy, his mother let him have a garden.
Wherever they were living, even if it was just a flower-box, he had decisions to make, seeds to plant, gardening books to pore over and plants to dote on.
His father disapproved, of course, but there was little about him of which his father did approve, so it was of little matter.
He doesn't keep plants now, not even so much as a cactus. People are his obsession.
He never quite understood plants, even though he knew all about them.
The same is true for people.
...........................
viii. Skeleton for axmxz
The haunted hospital idea was a bad one, if only because it was House and Wilson's idea.
The kids were enjoying it so far, though, but she knew House couldn't help himself.
Her fears were realized, when, cutting around a corner in the cafeteria, she was treated to the sight of two skeletons doing anatomically-improbable things to each other on the clean, white tiles.
Glancing up, she frowned at House and Wilson, seated on the metal counters, red and trembling with suppressed laughter.
"Will you two ever grow up?" she spat, throwing a popcorn ball at each of them.
...........................
ix. Unconscious for slipstream_chan
Unconscious-House was incredibly easy to deal with. He was quiet, obedient, and never complained.
Wilson was allowed to fuss over House when he was sleeping. His fingers could brush softly through thinning, greying curls with nary a word of complaint.
He could trace the line of House's jaw with his hand, laying a kiss on the serene forehead. He could even have House lean against his shoulder, or cradle his head gently in his lap.
The only problem with an unconscious House was that he was boring.
Wilson poked House none-too-gently in his side, "Wake up. You're snoring."
...........................
x. Fire for nightdog_barks
Wilson was having an incredibly good dream.
It stood to reason that he'd be awakened by an incessant banging on his door. He knew it was House before he even opened the door.
"My apartment caught on fire," House announces, and drops his bags unceremoniously to the floor.
Wilson pivots on his heel, and returns to bed without a word. Maybe he'll wake up from this nightmare.
He knows it's bad when House insinuates himself into the bed, under the covers, stealing Wilson's pillow from under his head.
His subconscious must really hate him.
"You aren't dreaming, you twat."
I've gotten a really good response, so I'll be doing more of these soon.
One of these is gen, but I'm not telling which. ^^
i. Routine for killthwight
Every day, it's the same old thing.
Morning coffee with Wilson, bitch at Cuddy, fuck with the kiddies.
Snap at the patient, bully nurses, lunch with Wilson.
Throw insults at Chase, flirt with Cameron (who still thinks it might be real), pick a fight with Foreman, retreat to Wilson's office.
Browbeat the patient's family, order a couple tests, browbreat the family some more, call Wilson in for a consult.
General Hospital and a daily lecture from Wilson over afternoon coffee.
Clinic duty, Wilson waiting at the nurse's desk with snarky sympathy and a dinner invite.
He's starting to see a pattern.
...........................
ii. Restraints for vamp2puppy
Wilson keeps his emotions under strict lock and key, always has.
He never raises his voice, never throws the china, only curses under extreme provocation.
House touches off something within, though, passions he didn't think he was capable of feeling.
Love in all its many forms, bright and blinding and beautiful. Lust, the fuel to that particular fire, and rage lurking beneath it all.
He knows House will not rest until his demons are set loose from their cage, and it will destroy them both.
His rage is not at House, but at the lust he feels for House.
...........................
iii. Cacophany for michelleann68
He keeps his earphones in for as long as possible, trying to drown out the menagerie.
It's no use, everyone is always talking at him, problems and questions and complaints.
He can't think, his brain a tornadic blur, he's aggravated, frustrated, and that makes him snappish and irritable.
Wilson strolls in, and with him, blissful silence, and the trio disappears into the hall at his disapproving glare.
For the first time in days, his jaw muscles unclench, as he relaxes bonelessly into his chair.
They sit and drink coffee together, quiet and companiable.
Thankfully, they've never needed words between them.
...........................
iv. Incentive for saara_zaara
You can't just expect House to do what you want without offering something in return.
Managing House is a lot like managing a small child, the secret is bribery.
Every interaction with House requires presence of mind and forethought, you have to be
willing to pay up.
Even when its just something as childish as watching you writhe in pain, House demands
payment for his services.
Wilson's devised an incentive program, and if House knows of its existence, he's playing dumb.
Food for conversation, money for trust, information for information, etc., etc.
Absently, Wilson wonders what sex will get him.
...........................
v. Identity for crowson75
Wilson isn't always Wilson.
Sometimes he's James (at home, with his wife, bored to tears and waiting for morning), sometimes he's Jim (with Mom and Dad, sitting precariously on the edge of the plastic-slipcovered sofa), and sometimes he's Jimmy (with House, slim fingers exploring every inch of his body, crying out sharply with each harsh, painfully pleasant thrust).
Everywhere else, he's Wilson. To his colleagues, to his boss, to his underlings. To the man at the gas station and the woman at the coffee bar, he's Dr. Wilson, but usually it's just Wilson.
His other names don't always suit him.
...........................
vi. Perfume for saltyj
House has always prided himself on his olfactory prowess, even as a child.
He uses his nose as a diagnostic tool, often astounding patients by diagnosing their problem without ever looking at their file...or them.
Walking in the door to their apartment, he picks up the distinct odor of perfume trailing into their bedroom. He sniffs the air experimentally, thinking 'Chanel', 'expensive', and 'slut, cunt, whore'.
He knows what he's going to see before he even opens the door, and he isn't even all that shocked.
He's just surprised it took so long.
...........................
vii. Grew for theninth
When he was a boy, his mother let him have a garden.
Wherever they were living, even if it was just a flower-box, he had decisions to make, seeds to plant, gardening books to pore over and plants to dote on.
His father disapproved, of course, but there was little about him of which his father did approve, so it was of little matter.
He doesn't keep plants now, not even so much as a cactus. People are his obsession.
He never quite understood plants, even though he knew all about them.
The same is true for people.
...........................
viii. Skeleton for axmxz
The haunted hospital idea was a bad one, if only because it was House and Wilson's idea.
The kids were enjoying it so far, though, but she knew House couldn't help himself.
Her fears were realized, when, cutting around a corner in the cafeteria, she was treated to the sight of two skeletons doing anatomically-improbable things to each other on the clean, white tiles.
Glancing up, she frowned at House and Wilson, seated on the metal counters, red and trembling with suppressed laughter.
"Will you two ever grow up?" she spat, throwing a popcorn ball at each of them.
...........................
ix. Unconscious for slipstream_chan
Unconscious-House was incredibly easy to deal with. He was quiet, obedient, and never complained.
Wilson was allowed to fuss over House when he was sleeping. His fingers could brush softly through thinning, greying curls with nary a word of complaint.
He could trace the line of House's jaw with his hand, laying a kiss on the serene forehead. He could even have House lean against his shoulder, or cradle his head gently in his lap.
The only problem with an unconscious House was that he was boring.
Wilson poked House none-too-gently in his side, "Wake up. You're snoring."
...........................
x. Fire for nightdog_barks
Wilson was having an incredibly good dream.
It stood to reason that he'd be awakened by an incessant banging on his door. He knew it was House before he even opened the door.
"My apartment caught on fire," House announces, and drops his bags unceremoniously to the floor.
Wilson pivots on his heel, and returns to bed without a word. Maybe he'll wake up from this nightmare.
He knows it's bad when House insinuates himself into the bed, under the covers, stealing Wilson's pillow from under his head.
His subconscious must really hate him.
"You aren't dreaming, you twat."