Chapter Text
“Finally !” House huffs on the phone, pacing around his office. “You’ve got a pager in case your phone -”
“I’m in the middle of something, House, can this wait ?” Wilson’s tone is rushed, and he must have put him on speaker because he sounds far away.
“Already with a lady ? You waste no time, Wilson.”
House hears a loud constant noise on the other side that he can’t quite place. “No, a pipe burst in my bathroom. I warned Cuddy already, called the plumber, he won’t be there before this afternoon. So I’m fixing it.”
“You ? Well. I’m coming over.”
“No, House, you -”
He hangs up and drives there, ditching the rest of his work for the day. Cuddy calls and complains, but she still lets him go. It has been a slow day after all, and his team is more than good enough to cover for him.
When he gets to Wilson’s house, he notices only his car in the driveway - his wife must be at work -, and a ridiculous amount of opened windows. If he was a burglar, he’d definitely choose his house.
House doesn’t bother knocking ; the door is unlocked, so he pushes it with his cane, and walks to the loud noises. He knows his house well enough anyway… although it looks a lot less welcoming than it did in the past. In fact, the right word would be lifeless. The divorce must be rougher than he thought.
When he reaches Wilson, he’s met by quite the sight.
The doctor is kneeling in front of his sink, dripping wet from head to toe, hands covering the pipe. He’s wearing a shirt - probably was preparing for work when it happened - that he has rolled up to his elbows. House can see tensed muscles and nice biceps at work under the wet fabric. He hopes his brain is memorising all of this - it will be great content during his alone time.
“I think you might want to put something else over it.”
Wilson jumps, which causes him to slightly move his hands. Instantly, a jet of water escapes from the pipe and hits him in the chest. He’s quick to recover, but the scowl on his face is directed at House. “You absolute idiot, you could have said something !”
“I just did,” House answers sarcastically with puppy eyes, “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“I’m freezing cold. Get a towel and, uh, go in my garage, you should be able to cut the water off there. The small blue valve near the southern wall.”
House obeys, although he loudly complains about it through it all - even if Wilson most likely cannot hear him. By the time he’s back, the water is only dripping, and James had sat back on his heels.
House unceremoniously throws the only dry towel he could find in Wilson’s face. “You look like a wet rat.”
“And I thought you were enjoying the view of me trying my hardest,” Wilson says with a sigh, vigorously drying his hair and face, “I guess I can never win.”
“Definitely enjoying the view.”
Wilson looks up at him to try and gauge his sincerity - but, as usual with House, reading him isn’t that easy. Instead, once he has dried off anything he could, he ties the towel around the leaking pipe and gets up. He spends the next ten minutes mopping the floor while House keeps him up to date with his cases.
When he’s finally done, he lets out a tired sigh, catching sight of himself in the mirror. His white shirt is clinging to his skin, showing his paleness in some spots. His pants are definitely ruined, and his hair is a messy, humid nest on his head.
He’s already unbuttoning his shirt when House stops him with his cane. “Oh, oh, oh, cowboy, aren’t you going a bit too fast ?”
“House, I’m nearing hypothermia at this point. Why are you interrupting me ?”
House fakes shyness, putting a hand in front of his eyes, glancing between his fingers. “We’ve yet to have our first date, and you’re already undressing ?”
“Oh, shut up. You’ve seen me butt naked before.”
“Oh, right,” House says, as if he had suddenly remembered that point, “that’s true. Go on then !”
He moves to lean against the doorframe, insisting on looking at him pointedly. Where Wilson would usually kick him out and complain, he’s had a way too annoying morning to care. Instead, he turns to face him properly while undoing his belt. Two can play his little game.
It seems to provoke something in House, who suddenly extends his cane to grab him by the pants. He pulls him forward in one swift motion - Wilson being, as usual, surprised by how well he can use his cane - until he’s close enough to put his hands on his shirt. “Let me help, then.”
Wilson gulps, but he lets House work on unbuttoning his shirt. “’Oh, oh, oh, cowboy, aren’t you going a bit fast’ my ass,” he repeats while looking away, his cheeks turning a bit pinker, “what a terrible liar you are.”
“Oh, but how am I supposed to resist you, James. I’ve seen actors on Baywatch looking a lot less hot than you when dripping wet.”
Wilson isn’t sure if he’s serious or not. “Yeah, because you were definitely watching Baywatch for its male actors.”
His hands are warm against Wilson’s cold and wet skin. He goes awfully slow, taking his time with each button, his knuckles softly sliding against his skin until a warm feeling is spreading through Wilson’s chest. “You should know hormones made me look at whatever looked okay.”
“Yeah,” James swallows before pinching his lips, “that I definitely know.”
When House looks up, time stills for both of them. Wilson’s hair has fallen above his forehead, softly dripping. House follows a water drop going down his nose, ending its life between his lips, and, for a second, he wishes to be that drop.
But James is, understandably, too cold to really live in the moment. House hears a clicking, metal sound, before James’ pants drop to the floor. “Instead of looking at me like that,” he says, albeit sounding heavily tempted, “go find another towel and… at least some sweatpants.”
So House goes again. He complains louder, and, this time, Wilson can hear him. He gets small answers, cut by the sound of his teeth chattering, so he goes a bit faster, this time. He voluntarily choses Wilson’s smallest sweatpants, and a pyjama shirt, for good measure. When he comes back, James is hugging himself, shivering like a school boy on a rainy day. “Should have gone faster,” he mumbles, “it’s not like you have a very good reason to be slow.”
“And here I was, thinking I could help you dry off.”
House throws him the towel, and observes as James takes off his drenched shirt to properly dry his torso. “It’s okay if you don’t. You’ll drive me to the hospital when I inexorably die of hypothermia.”
“You’re such a drama queen,” House complains, before taking the second towel he had stuck in his belt and grabbing James’ second arm, “you really can’t survive without me.”
“What,” James slightly chuckles while both are drying him, “Am I supposed to… get on my knees and pray to thank you ?”
“Wow, James, if you’re asking, yes, you can get on your knees to thank me.”
Wilson rolls his eyes before drying his legs rapidly and grabbing the sweatpants from House. When he puts them on, a frown settles on his face before he looks up to the other doctor. “They barely fit anymore.”
“Oh ?” House puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t tell. Well, maybe you should try a bit harder. Here.”
House leans forward and helps him pull it up. It’s not outrageously small, but it’s just tight enough to highlight his ass perfectly - which Wilson understands quickly, when he follows his stare. “Oh, you absolute pervert !”
“Oh, can’t a guy get a little eye candy ? I mean, I am helping you out. I deserve a reward.”
Wilson considers his point for a second, and decides to not complain about it more. He wants to : but there’d be no way to keep House from doing what he felt like doing. Even if it means having his ass looked at all day long.
And, well, there were worse things in the world. With a snort, he grabs the shirt and his towel and walks away. “Well, now that you’re here, do you want a beer ?”
“Damn, I may be a perv, but you’re definitely making my job easier,” House says while looking at his naked back, “have you been working out lately ?”
They walk together to the kitchen, where Wilson grabs two beers. “No, you know I have not. Stop trying to get into my pants by complimenting me, House.”
House grumbles but takes the beer he’s handed, already making his way to the couch. He puts his cane against the back before sitting down comfortably. Wilson follows, shaking his head first to get rid of a bit of water. “You look like you did in college. How are you not aging ?”
“Once again, that’s not how you’ll get into my pants,” Wilson smirks, sitting down next to him and throwing his legs on House’s lap, “but I appreciate it. Time will catch up ; I don’t really mind.”
“Yeah, because your hair is still all… fluffy and cute. Wait ‘till it gets grey and thin. We’ll see how you take it.”
Wilson takes a sip of beer, welcoming it gladly. His skin is still glistening, his hair dripping on his chest in an obscene way, but he seems to not mind. Throwing his arm behind House on the couch, he uses that hand to run through the older doctor’s hair, resting his head on his bicep. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look bad on you.”
House turns to look at him. When their eyes meet, Wilson sees something in his eyes : something that tells him all about House’s opinion on his looks, about his fear of what everything between them means.
House, him, sees what terrifies him in Wilson’s eyes. He reads appreciation, almost admiration. He sees the way Wilson cares about him, and, if it scares him, it makes him feel good, too, warmth spreading through his entire body. He wants to keep looking, see what Wilson has to offer, but he speaks out of habit, his voice soft, “don’t look at me like that.”
And he looks away.
Wilson doesn’t really care. He doesn’t let it ruin the moment. His hand slides to House’s neck, where it rests calmly. “I’ve always looked at you this way. Nothing’s changed.”
“Of course, things have changed, James,” House exclaims, as annoyed as he gets, although his voice cracks, “we both know they’ve changed.”
“So what ? Why do you have to make it into something bigger than it is ? I don’t care about…” He looks down with a frown, trying to find the right words. “Status or privileges, I don’t care about anything. You’re… hot enough, and I want to make out with you. That’s all there is to it. I don’t know how many times you want me to say it, but I can’t be clearer than that.”
“But what if I want more ?” House breathes out quietly, as if scared his own body would try to stop him from saying it.
Wilson considers it for a minute, letting his brain debate what kind of answer House should hear. “So what ? Can’t we just… let things be ?” Wilson shrugs. “It won’t ruin anything. I mean, you’ve rejected Cameron in a quite… distasteful way. Yet, she still works for you, and she still considers you a friend.”
House groans, throwing his head back, Wilson’s hand naturally sliding up to make sure he does not bump his head against the hard part of the couch. “Ugh, I hate when you make sense.”
“I’m just saying, you don’t have to blow it out of proportions.”
“Stop talking before you actually start saying smart things,” House grumbles, finally looking at him again, “it’s unfair, really.”
Wilson’s lips stretch into a wide smile, showing his teeth with slightly flushed cheeks. “So, now that you’re done being grumpy, we have…” He looks up at the clock in the entrance. “2 hours before the plumber gets here.”
House smirks and leans in. Their teeth clash in a weird laughing kiss, Wilson wrapping his arms around him lazily. For the first time, the kiss feels right, comfortable. There’s no competition, no needless aggression from unresolved conflict.
Of course, House has to make it a bit more interesting, so he slides a hand down Wilson’s chest, stopping on his waist to pin him like this. Before he can try anything else though, Wilson lets out a small chuckle and moves his hand. “Don’t. I’m ticklish.”
He doesn’t have to hear it twice ; for the next five minutes, House proceeds to tickle Wilson until he cries, cheeks red and hair messy from squirming around. He only stops once his leg gets tired to hold his weight, and proceeds to lie down on Wilson with a satisfied smile.
Wilson holds him softly, chin resting on his head. The smile on his face does not disappear.