Chapter Text
The first time Wilson hugs House, it’s completely unplanned, and for something so mind-numbingly dull, House almost doesn’t notice it.
It was one of those weird side-hugs, the ones that don’t really count. But it came with a squeeze as Wilson wrapped his arm around House’s side, using his other hand to cheer at the TV with a fork in hand. It’s so long into their friendship that House is surprised Wilson hasn’t tried it before.
House doesn’t know how to feel or react, other than go stiffer than usual, on edge, awkward, even. This is the first time they’ve touched outside of playful punches (and the occasional bruising punch), and House could admit he feels a little guilty that he’s not as into it as Wilson is.
That is, until whatever stupid football team Wilson’s supporting (with House playing along) does something good again. This time, Wilson, now forkless, turns, takes House in both of his arms, and squeezes.
And holy shit, the bliss that follows is (almost) orgasmic.
House struggles not to melt into the touch as his friend continues applying the pressure - the relief, the comfort that comes with a hug done right. This is the first time it sticks with House - Christ, this is probably the first hug he’s had since before med school.
It’s so good, House puts his Chinese down, careful not to disturb Wilson, and pushes back against him in a friendly manner, a small smile playing on his lips.
Wilson doesn’t notice, though they stay like that for a while - leaning against eachother, a little too close for what they call their relationship (‘boning’, inaccurately describes one, the other promises it’s ‘strictly House flirting with him’).
Eventually, however, Wilson unhooks himself to brush his teeth, nudging House’s arm to signal him that his own room is a better place to sleep than the couch. House begrudgingly walks off after repositioning the pillows and blanket for him.