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"I had no business blaming you for any of this."
Wilson froze mid-shift, startled into inaction. He didn't know what he'd expected. Another sarcastic remark about the tie, maybe. He hadn't been sure about it; he had thought it might be too soon for symbols of forgiveness. House would never have bought him a tie. House's gifts tended towards the impractical and frequently embarrassing. But a tie was neutral. It didn't have to mean anything. And House could actually use it. Wilson would have given him an electric razor and a copy of Emily Post if he'd thought they would make a difference.
"I know you were just trying to help me. Protect me. That's what friends do."
"Is this ..." He hesitated, waiting for the guffaw of laughter, for House to sneer something juvenile at him. " ... an apology?"
"Part of the program," House explained. It was an out; Wilson recognized it as such. He could accept House's words, or chalk them up to regulations and steps to recovery, however false. "If you don't like it, I can stop."
"Not at all. It's just so ..." Shocking, disorienting, alienating, disarming. It was like being thrown overboard without a life preserver. Dizzying, and yet -- not unappealing. Not at all. "... unfamiliar," he finally decided. House blinked. "Please, keep going."
He shouldn't have said anything. He should have at least changed his tone -- made it clear that he wasn't inviting anything beyond the limits of where they currently stood -- but he hadn't. House's gaze remained steady, but Wilson was distracted by the smile slowly spreading on House's face. It was a smile fraught with mischief, possibility, intent.
It made Wilson squirm.
"I shouldn't have taken your pad." House's voice was soft and rough at the edges, his face penitent, his confident smirk a thing of the past. Wilson watched him carefully.
"I shouldn't have forged your name," House admitted. He dropped his head for a moment. Wilson watched as House bit his lower lip, holding the tender flesh with his teeth for a moment before releasing it, now glistening wet. Wilson licked his own lips in sympathetic response.
House raised his head and stared soberly at Wilson. "I shouldn't have yelled at you when you talked to the cop." His voice was low, his blue eyes piercing ... penetrating. Wilson swallowed heavily.
"I should have talked to the lawyer right away. I should have taken this seriously." House's tongue crept out to wet the down-turned corner of his lips, vanishing almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Wilson shifted in his chair for at least the third time since arriving, uselessly hoping that House hadn't noticed. House, of course, noticed everything. Wilson was certain of it, even if House's stare didn't waver. His eyes continued to bore into Wilson as he said quietly, "I should have been there to help you when your accounts were frozen and your DEA number was suspended."
Wilson had always thought that apologies were particularly difficult for House, with his vanity and pride reaching levels heretofore only theorized in human beings, but House actually seemed to be taking well to the idea. Disturbingly well, even, if Wilson's highly disturbed reaction was anything to go by.
House never moved his eyes from Wilson's as he shifted further down on the couch, scooting closer to Wilson, and changed positions, leaning back with his arms spread expansively. He slouched deeply, a picture of relaxation -- legs spread, hips canted upwards -- and dropped his head back, exposing the long, vulnerable stretch of his throat. They were close enough now that if House had moved his leg half an inch, their knees would be brushing. Wilson swallowed again. He could feel his body responding instinctively to the position. He fought the desire to drop to his knees between House's parted thighs.
"I shouldn't have complained when you made the deal," House said in a voice like expensive dark chocolate. "And I should have accepted it when it was offered."
Wilson watched helplessly as House placed his hand on the armrest of the sofa and slowly began stroking the fabric with his forefingers. Up and down, back and forth, idly, hypnotically, almost -- but not quite -- like he didn't even notice what he was doing, like he had no idea what it was doing to Wilson. House had beautiful hands: hands that could summon Sergei Rachmaninoff from a piano and Jimi Hendrix from a guitar. Who knew what they could summon from a human body? When House closed his eyes for a moment, his mouth going slack in an expression of blissful relaxation, Wilson managed to take advantage of the opportunity to surreptitiously adjust himself.
House opened his eyes and gave Wilson another regretful look. "I shouldn't have stolen those pills. Or those other pills," he added, a corner of his mouth quirking up. His gaze was smoldering. Wilson suppressed an undignified whimpering noise.
"I shouldn't have put you in this position." House licked his lips again; Wilson failed to hide his soft moan of wonder at the much more preferable positions House could put him in.
"I shouldn't --" House stopped, blinked, and for the first time since Wilson had egged him on, his expression gained a fleeting, not unfamiliar sadness. "I shouldn't have taken you for granted."
Wilson's dick was hard enough to scratch diamonds and his heart was beating in double time. "House," he said, immediately embarrassed at how desperate he sounded.
House gave him a small smirk in return, and a bigger, slightly wicked one as his gaze drifted down Wilson's torso and took note of the obvious evidence of Wilson's problem. When his eyes came back to Wilson's face, though, he actually appeared to be sympathetic. Only the slight flush on House's cheeks gave away that anything was out of the ordinary.
"I don't know how I should feel about the fact that all it takes to get in your pants is an apology. Kind of kinky -- albeit in a seriously nerdy way."
Wilson took a shaking breath. "I think it depends on the person making the apology," he said.
House started to smile, then visibly forced his face back to its usual state. He jerked his head in the direction of the rooms where the rehab patients stayed overnight. "Got a private room back there. Voldemort might give us half an hour if I slip him a fifty."
Wilson's eyes drifted to the rehab supervisor, who had wisely decided to keep his vigil out of hearing distance, but was occasionally giving them suspicious glances. Wilson looked back at House, miserable.
"I think," he said, "we should reserve this for after you finish rehab. For a place with more than a dormitory cot. Think of it as ... motivation, if you will."
House sized him up, apparently trying to determine whether Wilson was serious. "Your loss," he finally said.
"Temporary loss, I hope."
"If you change your mind," House said, slinging his new tie around his neck and using the cane to get to his feet, "you know where to find me. Have fun thinking of all the other ways I can apologize and make it up to you."
A flood of unbidden images rushed to Wilson's head as he watched House walk away. He groaned. "You're an evil, evil man."
"No cases," House called over his shoulder, "means nothing to think about but ways to torture you. And Cuddy, but your ways are gonna be a lot more fun."
Wilson shut his eyes and forced himself to think repulsive thoughts. Tritter did it; his erection was long forgotten. He stood up. House had made it across the room and was about to disappear into the residential part of the center. Wilson called his name to stop him.
"You know, this program might be the smartest thing you've ever done," he said, looking House over, already imagining him after rehab, bringing him home. "For both of us."
House wouldn't turn around completely -- Wilson chose to believe it was because he had a "problem" of his own to hide -- but he did look over his shoulder to acknowledge the remark with a snort of disbelief.
"Goodnight, House. I'll stop by tomorrow --" He shook his head in exasperation at House's raised eyebrows and suggestive smirk. "-- and I'll see if they'll let me take you for lunch or something. Not take, like -- oh, stop laughing," he said, and left House smiling stupidly, looking genuinely happy, for the first time since he couldn't even remember when.