Work Text:
Wilson has his back to his office door, organising files into his patient records cabinet when he hears the door to his office swing open. He doesn’t need to look around to know it's House. The crinkle of his crumpled clothes, the waft of that same cologne he’s been wearing for fifteen years straight, along with the unmistakable click of his cane, makes it so that Wilson could identify him blindfolded. "Hey House," Wilson greets, still filing, not looking around.
Wilson hears the door click shut behind House, and, from the very corner of his eye, Wilson watches as House throws him back against the door, leaning against it like a naughty child hiding from his parents, "you're never gonna believe this."
"Hm?" Wilson finally fully turns around, patient file in hand. House has got a mischievous glint in those blazing blue eyes of his. "Ok, what have you done now and why wasn't I included if it was this funny?" Wilson teases, a single genuinely intrigued eyebrow cocked.
“Get this,” House leans his cane against Wilson's desk before he limps over to Wilson's huge office windows and draws the blinds, peeping through them like a spy about to spill secrets. Once he’s sure they’re securely hidden, House turns back to face Wilson, “I just got propositioned by about ten random ass staff members. So ya know that the literal entire hospital thinks that we should be dating, and that we're in love but refuse to admit it?” he asks, before flopping onto the sofa.
Wilson sideways nods, unaffected, "eh, who doesn't think that about us these days?" Wilson didn't know with concrete certainty that the entire hospital thought it, but it doesn't surprise him, not even a little. After all, their entire apartment building thinks they're gay. Grown men over the age of 30 moving in together makes them two tigers away from an act in Vegas, as House puts it. Wilson doesn't even care anymore. He enjoys sharing the condo with House and that's all that matters at this point. He's tired of fighting the rumours. After he fake proposed marriage to House in front of their neighbour just to, in fact, spite House (long story). So there's no going back now anyway. Nobody will ever be convinced that they're not gay, so eh. Whatever.
"Well," House says, with his full chest, voice gripping with eagerness for gossip, "it turns out the entire hospital has started a fundraiser. This group of ten random staff members just told me that ten grand has been raised to bribe me into just straight up kissing you. Apparently, they're sick of the sexual tension between us and are sure that if we just kiss, we'll come to our senses at long last.”
Wilson laughs, "seriously?" He allows himself to laugh for a solid minute or two; it feels good! "Ten grand too?! That's honestly impressive!"
"Right?!" House doesn't really smile or grin, but his lip corner twitches briefly up for a flash before settling back down to his usual stoic expression. "So here's what I'm thinking; we do it and split the money. We can give them a real show! Pack the cafeteria with an audience and give them all a serious thrill, hm?"
Wilson feels a prickle of excitement under his skin. Ok, that does sound fun. The rebellious little chaos gremlin within Wilson hungers for that sort of thing. It's why he and House click. Wilson works hard to pretend he's not a chaos gremlin, but he is, and House knows it. Thankfully, House is chaos incarnate, and he allows Wilson to be his true wild-monkey self whilst hiding behind the protection that is House. He can do anything, and nobody will blame him or think badly of him because he must be under the bad influence that is House. Double thankfully, House doesn't mind being the world's tallest scapegoat. But then again…
“I'll never get another date with a hot nurse if the entire hospital believes we're dating though. It's bad enough no woman in our condo building will go near me after I fake proposed to you,” Wilson points out.
This clearly gives House a further mischievous idea, "we could also do a big dramatic rejection scene? Ooooh! We can even do a fake slap routine! You're telling me you've never wanted to give me a good slap? Cause that sounds fun to me!"
Wilson's insides bubble twice as excitedly. Ok, now that sounds really fun. They could go full Spanish telenovela! Oooh. Maybe they can even pepper in some actual Spanish, just for extra fun! He speaks it very loosely, and he knows House is fluent. Imagine! They'd really turn heads then. Plus, a public rejection will get him sympathy points with all the female staff members; he's sure he'll get at least a dozen 'let me help you feel better' dates out of it. Maybe he could even talk House into doing the act again in their condo building to get Wilson back on the dating game there too. Without further hesitation, Wilson confidently announces, "I'm in. When?"
"I want the surprise on that puppy dog face of yours to be genuine," House's eyes twinkle with mischief, "so I won't say, but you'll know when it's coming. I'll really stir up a scene!" Wilson flashes him a grin, genuinely excited. This is going to be fun!
House says nothing more about the subject for two weeks. Wilson is desperate for an update on their big scene, but whenever he asks House about it, he tells Wilson he'll just have to 'wait and see'. No amount of pressing or pushing gets any other answer out of him, so Wilson is forced to wait, practically vibrating with anticipation.
Then, on Taco Tuesday of the third week post-discussion, the cafeteria is packed to the gills with staff hungry for buy-one-get-one-free tacos, and Wilson has two tacos on his tray; having bagged one for House. He's battling through the elbow-to-elbow crowd in an attempt to get to a seat. He's just successfully set the tray down on a booth table, House's favourite kind of table, when he hears, above all the surprisingly loud cafeteria chatter and clatter, House himself yell, "OK!!!! FINE!!!! I'LL DO IT, JUST TO SHUT YOU ALL UP!!!!" Naturally, every head in the cafeteria turns to see House, seemingly steamily furious with his team, who are following behind him like little ducklings. House whips around and points dramatically at Wilson with his cane, "YOU!!" he commands with the dooming voice of a dictator. It echoes off the walls. With alarming velocity, House comes staggering dramatically towards Wilson. Storming across the cafeteria floor, his cane clicking violently loudly. The packed crowd parts like the red sea to let House through. House has such a commanding presence, such a powerful voice, that the entire packed-like-sardines cafeteria has fallen dead silent and everybody is scurrying away from him like cockroaches to the light. Everybody looks a mix of impressed, curious and scared. Fear is the most surprising emotion to Wilson. After all, House is a 47 year old cripple with grey hair and, lately, he’s developing quite the soft-and-doughing figure. Back in the day, House could be a pretty scary sight; 6’1, those shark-blue fierce eyes, strong, fit, muscular. House used to wild rock climb, run marathons, and play a dozen more sports. He used to be visibly young and athletic. He used to have abs and defined muscles like a true gym freak. He used to run to work and back daily. He used to box. Before his infraction, House was a serious athlete who was tough as old boots, as sharp as a swinging blade and as salty as the sea. Back then, with his looming presence, height, staring-into-your-soul eyes, and strapping physic, Wilson understood when people quivered in fear before the mighty, strong, intelligent giant who could read them like a book and then tear them down emotionally, intelligentially, and personally in 2.5 seconds with a single glance. Seven years post-infraction however, to Wilson’s eyes anyway, House just looks like a dad-bod-having middle aged cripple. He looks old and tired. His eyes are deep with exhaustion. His face is crinkled and wrinkled with age. He’s gained at least twenty pounds and looks rather elderly-teddy-bear like.
Well, to Wilson anyway.
Or maybe that’s bias, because he knows House like the back of his hand, and knows House isn’t even almost scary as he looks. Even back in the day, Wilson didn’t find House scary, he supposes. To him, House has always just looked like his best friend.
Now, House begins a new rant. “I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS UNRESOLVED SEXUAL TENSION BETWEEN US!!!!" House rages. "EVERYBODY KEEPS TELLING ME TO JUST STOP DICKING AROUND AND JUST 'ADMIT MY FEELINGS,' WELL, FUCK THAT!!! TALKING IS IRREVELANT! ONLY ACTIONS MATTER! AND TO PROVE THAT," he snaps his blazing blue eyes around the cafeteria accusingly, "I'M JUST GOING TO DO -" He's reached Wilson in his death march now, "THIS!" With surprising force, House flings his cane into the booth seat and pushes Wilson backwards.
And, suddenly, Wilson mentally takes back everything he was just thinking about House not being scary. That thunderous yelling that reverberated off the walls, matched with the storming walk, and now, the alarming force behind the push almost makes Wilson’s knees buckle. Wilson had forgotten how strong House still is. Despite House’s disability and increasing age, he’s still triple Wilson’s weight and is still a thickly shouldered ex-athlete, after all. The shorter, skinnier, lightweight that is the Oncologist is as easily tipped over as an empty soda can - not that he's resisting the push in any way. He’s too busy being bewildered, to be honest.
Wilson is falling backwards towards the hard floor, when, with swagger, House steps forward with his good leg and catches Wilson, with one hand landing behind Wilson's head and the other cupping the small of Wilson's back. Within seconds, Wilson has gone from standing innocently in the cafeteria, to being in prime dip-kiss position like a princess in a Disney movie. House is leaning over him, only his strong, rough hands wholly supporting Wilson’s weight, and, before Wilson can process any of this, House’s chapped lips slam into Wilson’s in a brutal, burning, all-consuming kiss. At this, the entire hospital cafeteria breaks into wolf whistles and cheering.
But Wilson barely hears any of it though.
James Evan Wilson has had three wives and an almost uncountable amount of girlfriends, as well as affair partners on top of that. The point is, he's done a lot of kissing with a lot of different women - but this....this is unlike anything he's ever experienced. His surprise truly is genuine. He knew the kiss was coming at some point; and yet, when House's lips crash into his, rough and unexpected with not an ounce of hesitation, it's still a shock that hits like a thunderbolt. Wilson's body freezes for a split second, stunned, before everything within him ignites. House's mouth is warm, demanding, tasting like a mix of the hospital's cheap vending machine coffee and Vicodin. He smells of that exact same cologne he’s been wearing for fifteen years straight, the smell Wilson could identify blindfolded as belonging to House blind, deaf and mute; and yet, somehow, it smells better than ever. The rough bristle of House's stubbly grey beard sands against Wilson's smooth skin, sending flames dancing across Wilson's entire body. It's not a gentle kiss by any stretch of the imagination. It's House all over, forceful and raw, demanding and all-consuming. House is a man who commands every room he enters, and this kiss encompasses that. Wilson is eaten alive by the power and the ferocity - but there's this undercurrent of something deeper, something Wilson has never felt before. This is Wilson's first kiss with a man, and holy shit, it's electric, better than anything he's ever, ever, ever experienced. It's more wonderful than any of his wedding days. More passionate than any of his honeymoon nights. The way House is squeezing Wilson's hair in his fist, the way the heat is building between them, the way their lips are crushing together; it's intoxicating, making Wilson's head spin and his body ache in ways he didn't know were possible. His skin is on fire. He's tingling, bubbling, tickling with glee. His head is as light as a feather. He's lost all sense of reality, time, and space. Wilson's trousers flood with an intense sexual desire that burns with the heat of a thousand suns. He lets out an involuntary long, low groan. Oh god, his spine is arching! He can’t remember the last time his spine arched. Maybe it never has. He grabs House's rumpled button-up shirt with both fists, squeezing it until his knuckles turn paper-white. He’s sweating so much that he’s sticky all over. ‘Mmmmm-huh,’ he moans with a burning lust that comes from some deep, primal place in the back of his throat. An almost animalistic urge is crying out in desperation within him. Oh good lord, he wants to tear House's clothes off with his goddamn teeth and rail him against the cafeteria table like a 1950’s husband bending his wife over the kitchen counter. Like a light switch suddenly flicked on, he's suddenly starving like an explorer who's been lost in the desert for weeks without a crumb of food. His entire body is gasping with desire for more more more! Forcibly, as if Wilson wants to eat House alive, he begins kissing back with the starvation of a wolf. Time warps; seconds feel like hours and Wilson feels nothing but the thrill of this breath-taking moment. He can't think. He can't see. Nothing else exists but House's lips and this kiss.
But then House releases.
It's like being snatched from the Sahara Desert and dropped in the depths of the North Pole. It's as if Wilson was on fire, but now he's been violently extinguished. The heat is snatched away from him so violently that it makes him whimper a pathetic, “noooo,” as House pulls away. House is looking down at Wilson in confusion, and Wilson doesn’t blame him one bit. They were supposed to have some huge rejection scene, but there Wilson was, snogging him breathless like a horny teenager at a bus stop. All around them, dozens of staff members are applauding, wolf whistling and cheering, exchanging money and 'I told you so!'s. People and dancing and gloating at one another. Meanwhile, Wilson feels as if he's had all the life drained out of him. He was in colour, but now he's grey. He was full, but now he's empty. He was found, but now he's lost. He was repaired, but now he's broken again. He had everything, and now he has nothing. He doesn't understand any of these feelings; all he knows is that he wants that feeling back. He wants House’s lips back on his. Now. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Forever.
He’s still clutching House’s rumpled shirt in both his fists, and House still has Wilson’s full weight supported. They’re both staring at each other, simultaneously lost and found at the same time. Wilson is still panting breathlessly.
People are starting to come over, crowding them, passing on congratulations and wanting to shake hands with ‘the happy couple.’ Meanwhile, House is staring down at Wilson with a question in his eyes, ‘what was that?’ he silently asks, and Wilson is staring right back with no answers, other than the desire that’s still pulsating throughout his entire body. He doesn’t think that pulsating passion is because House is a man; it’s because he’s House, and Wilson is starting to believe that it always should have been House. All he knows for sure is that he wants more. No. He needs more. Now.
Wilson erects himself out of House's arms but doesn't release House's shirt. Still surrounded by a crowd, Wilson draws strength from somewhere deep within and releases his flirtest, most seductive smile. “You'll have to excuse us everybody,” he announces to their audience, before biting his lip hungrily, “I have,” he sensually pops a button of House’s shirt open, exposing a little of his deliciously hairy chest, “unfinished business with my boyfriend here,” he finishes, in a hushed tone dripping with sexual desire. Dragging a bamboozled looking House through the cafeteria, Wilson is hungrier than a wolf as he forcefully pushes House backwards against the janitor's closet door beside the cafeteria. House goes stumbling backwards, his eyes wide with shock as he lets out an ‘oof.’ Wilson quickly steps inside, locking the door behind them, and the first thing that greets him are House's blazing blue eyes, which, in this dim closet, seem phosphorescent. “Ummm, Wilson?” House is practically shaking - not a common emotional expression on the usually rock-steady genius. “What the fuck?”
“Well,” Wilson’s voice is dripping with lust and he’s eating House alive with his eyes, “you heard me out there, didn’t you? I have unfinished business with my boyfriend.” He steps closer, his breath hot.
House backs up in surprise, but his back just hits against a storage rack. Buckets and maps rattle. “What?!?!” he, rightfully, asks.
“House, I don’t claim to understand it either, but all I know is that getting kissed by you was everything I needed and more,” Wilson confesses in a hushed, sultry voice. “It made me realise..” he steps all the closer, so they’re barely a nose apart. “That I need you, and that I need you to be kissing me, preferably forever, if you’re available?”
Poor House is sweating from this sudden turn of events, “look, Wilson, I’m glad to have given you a gay awakening, or whatever, but you can’t just go saying things like that!”
“Why?” Wilson asks, hooking one finger into House’s still one-button unbuttoned shirt, “don’t you love me too?”
“Lov-” House barks a hollow laugh, “Wilson, I’ve been in love with you since the moment I watched you throw a beer bottle through an antique mirror, but you can’t just decide, off one kiss, that you suddenly love me back enough to be talking about forev-” To shut him up, Wilson kisses him until House is breathless and sweating all the harder. “Glad to hear you love me too, boyfriend. Damn am I gonna enjoy kissing you forever.” House is left looking really rather helpless as Wilson begins unbuttoning House’s shirt, “so, about that unfinished business?” Wilson asks consent with his eyes.
“Wilson,” House is left whimpering, “are you sure? About the whole ‘forever’ thing? Because I can’t do a temporary, horny thing. Not with how much I love you. It would end me and -”
Wilson kisses him again, which is turning out to be a very effective method of shutting the diagnostician up. “How many times,” Wilson unbuttons yet another button on House’s shirt, “do I have to kiss you to prove it?”
House’s eyes narrow, “at least…a few more.” Grinning, Wilson leans in, and kisses him again. This time, rather than standing there and staring in confusion, like the last two times Wilson kissed him, House kisses back this time, and, moments later, the two are eagerly tearing each other's clothes off!
Outside the janitor's closet, at least thirty hospital staff members are leaning in, listening intently, grinning, and exchanging bet money - before they all slink away to leave the happy new couple to it.
When asked about it later, the entire hospital agrees that every penny of that £10,000 was worth it; especially considering that House and Wilson use it as a down payment on their new home together!
THE END