Chapter Text
House, I’m gay.
And I'm bi. Big deal. Do you want Chinese?
Did you hear what I just said?
You're gay. I know. Chinese?
House!
What?
You don't have anything to say about that?
No.
What do you mean, no?
No, I don't have anything to say. You're gay, I already knew. Are you done?
This is a big deal! This is-
Oh, God, does this mean we have to talk about feelings? Ok. I'll start. Jimmy, when did you first know you were gay? No, wait, don't tell me! You've always known.
This isn't a joke, House.
I know. But it's not a big deal, either. You're gay. I don't care. You can have sex with men, women, and sheep, for all I care. Though, admittedly, I'd make fun of the sheep. But back to your point. You're taking the opportunity of a very closeted gay mobster to come out to me. It was bound to happen one of these days. Frankly, I'm surprised it only took you 13 years. I figured you'd wait for lucky 15.
You knew? You know? You've known as long as we've known each other and you haven't said anything? You were my best man at two of my weddings! You never said anything!
Not my place.
You value the truth above all else! Why wouldn't you -
You weren't out to yourself. Or ready to be out to anyone else. Believe it or not, but sometimes I think before I say things.
How did you - ?
Does it matter? You're still my friend.
But - But -
So, Chinese is a no? How about pizza?
I don’t know what to say.
Good. I’m ordering.
I don’t want pizza.
Not gay enough for you? What about that girly vegetarian vietnamese stuff you forced me to eat last month?
No! No, that was awful. I don’t even know why I wanted to try it.
That leaves us with my original question. Chinese?
Yeah, sure, whatever. No steak.
Don’t worry, I haven’t been slipping Male Flame into your coffee. And, no, you don’t have that genetic marker, anyway. I checked.
That’s not even funny! He could have died.
You’re the one who said he didn’t want steak.
You’re an asshole.
Very funny. Is this when you tell me you’re secretly in love with me? Because I’ve known that for years, too.
Wha-
Quit giving me that look. I’ve had you figured out for a long time.
And, what? Are going to do anything about it?
Do anything? You mean, like offer to suck your cock? Offer to bend over? Sure, why not? Which do you want first? Or I could fuck you. That might be better for someone just coming out. You wouldn’t have to think as much.
And I thought you couldn’t be any more of an asshole.
You expected flowery romantic declarations? Have you met me?
I just - I don’t know what I expected.
Finally, some honesty! If you don’t know what you want, why don’t I tell you what I want?
Ok. Sure.
First, we eat Chinese and watch TV. Then I take a Vicodin or two and we have sex. How’s that sound?
You need a Vicodin to have sex?
Have you seen the gaping hole in my thigh?
Oh, right. We’d have to, um —
Stop thinking. It’ll be fine.
You’re sure?
I’ll still be an asshole in the morning. You’ll still be a goody-two shoes who cries at movies and cares about people.
Ri-ight.
If it makes any difference, I promise not to out us for a month.
That’s supposed to reassure me?
I’ve had the banner printed for years.
I know I’ll regret asking this, but… what banner?
The one that says: ‘Jimmy Wilson’s ass belongs to House. Stay away, bitches!’ I was going to hang it in the main lobby once you put out.
Oh, God. Please. Please don’t do that!
Depends. Are you going to put out?
What, tonight?
Yes. I thought we’d just agreed to that. Chinese, TV, sex.
If I agree to this, you can’t out us until I’m divorced.
That’ll be months!
True, but think how much fun you’ll have with that banner.
You’d agree to the banner if I agree to wait until you’re divorced?
Yes.
And we’d be having sex?
Yes. Lots of it. I have 13 years to make up for.
Is it Christmas already? I know just where I want to fuck you in the hospital. I have a list.
No sex at work until we’re out.
But I have a list!
I don’t care.
A list, Wilson! A list!
You’ll just have to wait.
But Mooo-ooom!
And if I find out you’ve outed us in any way before I say it’s ok, I’m leaving.
You’re not serious?
I’m deadly serious.
Why?
Because if I’m taking up with a middle-aged, crippled, drug-addicted, misanthropic bastard like you, I’m going to need as much money I can get to support your habits, and I’m not letting Julie find out and risk losing anything at the divorce hearing.
So by not outing us, I guarantee more money for me, more sex for me, and more fun for me once the news breaks?
I suppose you could look at it that way.
Good. It’s a deal.
Excellent. Keep the list, though. We’ll need it in a few months.
You know she’s cheating on you, right?
Julie? No way!
Uh huh. I bet that’ll get you some dough at the hearing.
You just want me for my money. You’re so like my ex-wives.
At least I admit that’s what I want. That and your body.
I can always count on you to be brutally honest.
Get the door. It should be dinner.
You mean you ordered before I got here? Why bother asking what I wanted?
Seemed polite. Don’t take all the crab rangoon!
No, I know better than to deprive you of crab rangoon.
.
.
.
Wilson?
Yeah?
Do you really want to be with me?
I wouldn’t be here having this conversation if I didn’t. Do you want to be with me?
I’ve wanted it for a long time.
Then we’re agreed. From now going forward we’re having a secret gay love affair.
I don’t like it being secret. I want everyone to know.
Even your father?
Especially my father. I hope it gives him a heart attack!
Oh, by all means, let’s tell him in person, then.
Great idea! But you have to wear a dress. Like in ’The Birdcage.’
I’m not wearing a dress. That’s non-negotiable.
But you’ll let me hang the banner?
I told you, once the divorce is final. Then you can hang the banner and tease me all you want.
We should find a way of getting into the nurse’s betting pool about us.
I’m already in. I put $1000 on March a few months ago. The divorce should be final by then.
How did you -?
I have my sources.
So you coming out to me tonight was just part of your plan to get the pot?
Not entirely. I actually want to sleep with you, believe it or not.
I’m not your first, am I?
God, no! I’ve been having sex with men since I was sixteen.
Huh.
What?
You sounded so shocked when I offered to blow you, I figured it was just theoretical gayness.
Life’s too short. It’s been a while, but I think I remember how to do it.
How long’s a while?
Four, five years. You?
Two weeks ago. Some twink I picked up at a bar.
No more twinks or hookers or girlfriends, you know. For either of us.
Good. I don’t like to share.
I know.
Well, then, let’s move to the bed, shall we?
You don’t beat around the bush much, do you?
Not anymore. Sausage-fest from here on out.
You’re a real asshole, you know that? But I love you anyway.
Yeah, yeah. Feeling’s mutual. Strip.