Chapter Text
Tappety tappety clump tap tap tap tap clump tappety tap clump
House rolled over and looked at the bedside clock. 5 AM.
“Wilson!”
Why was it that Wilson couldn’t hear him shouting across the loft, but House could hear that fucking noise as if it was in the same room?
Clump clump CLUMP tappety tap
With an aggravated sigh, House dragged himself out of bed and got his cane. He’d been up until 2 AM with Flapping Ear Girl and they still didn’t have a diagnosis. How was he supposed to have a goddamned epiphany with this racket?
Clump tappety tap clump
Wilson's voice. “Damn it!” Pause.
Clump tappety tap
House weaved sleepily to the front hall of the loft. Sure enough, Wilson had his dance board on the floor and was tap dancing, wearing only a green t-shirt, underpants, socks and custom-made black wingtip tap shoes. To make things worse, the damn shoes had “double” taps on them to make even more noise.
“Wilson! Stop doing your fucking Ginger Rogers routine!”
Wilson stopped, panting, his face shiny with sweat. “I like to think of myself as Fred Astaire.” He did a little shuffle-ball-change and threw his arms out. “Ta-da!”
“You’re forty pounds too heavy to be Fred Astaire.” House leaned against the wall. “Jesus, Wilson, it’s 5 AM. Can’t you practice this shit during the day?”
“I’m at work during the day. Besides, this is great exercise.” Wilson did a shuffle-off-to-Buffalo, pointing with his thumb.
“Yeah, it’s definitely tightened your legs and butt,” House said admiringly. “In fact…”
“Not now, House, I have another thirty minutes of practice.”
House glared at him. “Besides cutting into our sex life, have you ever thought it might be rather…inconsiderate to practice something I can’t do?”
Wilson grinned. “Don’t be too sure.” He tapped his way to House and gave him a quick peck on the mouth.
“Yeah, between only being able to use one leg and the excruciating pain, that would make for some fun times.” House started back to their bedroom. “Oh, and did I say I hate you?”
“House, come on!” Wilson reached for his partner’s arm and gently turned House around. “Haven’t you ever heard of Peg Leg Bates? Or Crip Heard?”
House looked at him grumpily. “No. And I don’t think I want to. Crip Heard, what sort of fucking name is that? You want me to be Crip House? I already am, asshole.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Wilson slid his body next to House’s, making sure not to lean too hard. “Maybe I could skip the practice for one morning.” House caught the aroma of Wilson’s sweat, felt the raised temperature from his body that the dancing had caused.
“Thank God. Then I can get some sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleep?” Wilson gazed into House’s eyes and kissed him again, this time thrusting his tongue into his lover’s mouth. House could feel Wilson’s dick hardening, and his own started to throb in return.
“Okay. But take off the damn shoes first.”