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“Why so rude?” Wilson asked when House interrupted his polite conversation with the new nurse in Pediatrics. “The Health department. Because they frown on topless Oncology,” was his repartee when House asked him if he was donning his new lavender shirt for “someone”. Ignoring, arguing and explaining were all not helping. House was escalating in his obsessive analysis of Wilson’s dressing and dating habits. Wilson had lied to House many times over the years, and gotten away with it too, as he had with his wives. Now, he was not even lying, but House refused to believe him, and the irony was not lost on him. He was the boy who cried wolf, or rather the boy who kissed too many pretty girls.
So, his brown suede shoes, his conversation with a patient’s sister, his new cologne, the lovely bouquet of pale yellow roses from a patient in remission (who was 65 and grandmother of three) were all scrutinized by House, leading to aspersions and accusations being cast on him. House was always territorial and clung to Wilson, the way he was possessive about his guitar, or his hardcover books, especially the second edition Conan Doyle. House’s innate curiosity, low tolerance for boredom and his strange brand of protectiveness, which had led him to decide he had to save Wilson from unscrupulous women, who were all plotting to bed the Oncologist, lead him to the altar and further down to the cleaners, via a huge alimony payout, had made him abnormally invested in his best friend’s life. But this was getting out of control. Wilson grit his teeth and ignored the diagnostician as much as possible, whenever he churned out one of his conspiracy theories, not wanting to enable his behavioral quirks.
But when House walked into his office, just as he was getting ready to start on his rounds one afternoon, pointed his cane at him and declared, “You are wearing a burgundy tie!” and then limped to the couch, sat down, smiling up at Wilson with a triumphant expression, as if he had caught him red-handed, Wilson found himself actually getting angry. He closed the door, turned around, put his hands on his hips and looked up the ceiling, searching for a calm response. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a couple of deep breaths.
“Yes House, I am wearing a burgundy tie. What do you think it means?”
“Burgundy highlights your eyes and makes you look prettier. You are wearing it for someone. Don’t think you can fool me.”
This turned out to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Wilson felt a surge of anger and frustration. He strode up to the older man, put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him onto the back of the couch, straddling him.
“Yes, House. I am wearing it for someone - YOU. Obviously! You are the only one who notices what I wear and thinks I look pretty. Did that ever strike you?” he hissed out.
House’s eyes had gone wide, and his mouth had fallen open, clearly taken aback by this reaction. Wilson decided to go in for the kill. He bent down and captured House’s lower lip, sucking on it, one hand clutching his hair and the other lightly around his throat. He had expected to throw the other man off his game. Expected House to be shocked and annoyed and push him away. Instead, he felt a hand around his ass and another around his jaw, as House kissed back. That was… unexpected.
Wilson moved his head back, and looked at House. His pupils were blown and his breathing was uneven, and he looked more vulnerable than he did during the weeks after his infarction, after Stacy left and when Wilson was the only one he allowed in his house to care for him, and give him company during his convalescence full of pain and misery.
“You absolute dodo!” Wilson muttered, “This is what all the stalking and conspiracy theorizing was about!”
House looked away, avoiding eye contact, obviously embarrassed, his silence speaking volumes. Wilson held his chin, gently turning his face and forcing him to meet his eyes. Then he kissed him again, several closed mouth quick pecks on his lips, cheeks and forehead, while sitting carefully down on his lap, and putting his arms around him. House’s palms were moving up and down his back and he moved his face to the crook of Wilson’s neck, breathing deeply, looking content and at peace.
Wilson didn’t want to disturb the moment, but he forced himself to say, “I have to go for my rounds. Shall we leave early and go to your place? We obviously have to talk.”
“Just talk?” House asked, trying to smirk, but still looking far too vulnerable and hopeful.
“Maybe you could help me take off my burgundy tie that makes me look pretty,” Wilson stated, making it sound like he was doing House a favor.
“Just the tie?” House asked, the smirk settling back in place.
“You will have to promise me you will stop accusing the nurses and my patients of trying to seduce me if you want to get to other articles of clothing,” Wilson couldn’t hide his smile.
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you would be insufferable.”
“No, you didn’t want to tell me because you were scared to open up and risk a chance at happiness. You know I am not going to hurt you. You could have told me.”
“You figured it out yourself,” House shrugged. “So does this mean you are going to wear this tie only for me, at home?” he asked, a glint in his eye, as he got hold of said tie, and pulled Wilson closer.
“Don’t worry, the entire hospital might see me in my ties, but I will reserve the privilege of seeing me in my boxers just for you.”
“Deal,” House replied, moving back in to steal another kiss.