The Prince
Title: The Prince
Pairing: House/Wilson
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Rating: PG
Summary: Watching TV, drinking beer, and making mistakes.
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD, or Blackadder
Note: If you've never seen or heard of the show Blackadder, you may not understand this much.
“House, turn something else on or I’m going home.” House turned to look at his friend and replied.
“Do you really think I care if you leave?” He took a swig of his beer and went back to watching ‘Rock of Love’.
“I don’t think. I know you’ll care if I leave.” He didn’t want to argue with Wilson tonight. It was best to just give him what he wanted. He offered up the remote and it was taken out of his hand. Soon the channels were being flipped at warp speed. After about five minutes, House was about to stop his friend and just tell him to go home and channel surf on his own TV, but he didn’t get the chance. Wilson groaned loudly.
“Nothing’s on.” He continued to fiddle with the remote. “I’m watching your TiVo.”
“Why don’t you go home and watch your own TiVo,” House asked him. Wilson sighed.
“Because my wife’s at home and it’s already past midnight. I can’t go back now without getting a lecture.” Wilson looked through all of House’s shows which consisted mostly of hospital soaps The OC, and New Yankee Workshop. He finally picked something after a good length of time.
“What’s this about,” Wilson asked. House looked away from the window he was staring out to see a man who seemed to be from the 18th century on the screen. House didn’t want to get into a long description about what it was so he answered as best he could.
“It’s about British people.” The opening titles ended and another man in a powdered wig and more makeup than even a woman should wear, started screaming for his butler while in bed. Wilson’s jaw dropped and he started laughing. It began as a soft chuckle but as the moments drew on it became louder than House could handle.
“It’s not that funny, you know,” House told him sternly. Wilson shook his head and stopped.
“No it’s just, that guy in the wig looks just like you!” Wilson became immersed in the show once again. House studied the exceptionally stupid but unmistakably rich man in tights.
“I don’t see any resemblance,” Hose replied. Wilson gaped at him.
“H-h-h-ow can you not see it?” Wilson’s eyes got big and he started using hand movements. “It looks just like you!” He only got like this when he got overly excited. It was a quality that House was fond of. Not that it was because it was cute or anything. Men don’t do cute things.
“I can’t see it because I’m way sexier than that guy,” House told his friend.
“Well he’s a lot younger than you.”
“This is from the late 80’s. He’s probably about my age now. There’s a good chance I’m better looking than he is now. Wearing all that makeup can’t be good for your skin.”
“I doubt he takes excessive amounts of a powerful narcotic everyday.” House took a long chug from his beer and kept his eyes on Wilson. “Alright, under all the makeup, the wig, and the frilly clothes, you’re probably hotter than him.” House stopped. He knew Wilson just realized what he had said. House didn’t want to verbally acknowledge it, but at this point he had to or Wilson would know something was up. Even though, NOTHING was up. At all.
“You said-“
“Let it go, House.”
“But you think-“
“Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that!”
“So you do think!” Wilson stopped trying and just sat on the couch. “You got the hots for me!”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said.” Wilson got up and walked out of the door.
“Bye, House.” The door closed and Greg was again alone, only accompanied by his supposed dimwitted royal counterpart on the television.
Damn.
