Chapter Text
House’s new case is hell.
He is convinced about it ; after five wrong diagnoses, they still cannot find what is wrong with their patient. They had tried a couple of drugs, had ordered some tests, and even tried giving them different treatments. It had resulted in bad reactions every time, and a few near death calls. At least, it looks like they wouldn’t kick the bucket overnight. He has time to figure it out.
Of course, as he usually did when a case was complicated, he called Wilson. If his team could not find the reason, maybe he could.
Maybe.
It was worth a try.
“Hey,” James says as he stops by his side, looking at the patient inside, “is that your patient ?”
House nods quietly, observing them patiently. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time watching them, trying to catch anything that could help. A slight tremor. A mysterious itch. A hidden habit. Anything that could give them a new idea.
“You haven’t seen anything on the MRI ?” When House mutters a “no”, Wilson crosses his arms. “Get a F-FDG PET scan. If it’s not cancer, you’ll rule out a big possibility. If it is, you’ve got your answer.”
“Abdomen ?”
Wilson, eyes still focused on the patient, frowns a bit. “Mh ?” He leans closer, still not looking away.
“I said,” House turns to lean forward and repeat, unaware that Wilson got closer. This results in two things ; he does not get to finish his sentence, his lips pressed against his friend’s.
It doesn’t last for more than a couple of seconds before both of them step back.
The silence, however, is not broken for a full minute. During this quiet moment, Wilson’s cheeks get gradually pinker, until they reach a nice shade of rose pink.
“I,” he stutters, tongue appearing for a short second to humidify his lips, “I… Sorry, I…”
House blinks once. Twice. Fleeting thoughts are raiding his brain ; Wilson’s lips are smooth and warm. Does he use lips products ? He probably does. His ex-wife surely had some. He understands how he got married so often, with lips like this.
However, when he opens his mouth, his wit is quicker, and his brain quieter. “Shave, next time. Stubble doesn’t feel nice.”
“You… have a beard, surely stubble doesn’t bother you,” Wilson answers matter-of-factly, visibly relieved to slip back into their usual bickering routine, “I couldn’t shave this morning.”
“Just because I can grow one.”
Wilson huffs, but they both can tell his heart is not focused on their banter. “I can grow a beard. It’s just not professional. And not practical, with the masks.”
House rolls his eyes at him, already opening his mouth to tease him again when Wilson’s pager rings. He takes one look at it - too fast to read anything, but he pretends he did - before saying “ah, gotta go. Send me the results when you get them”, and disappearing.
So House does that. When he gets the results, where a small but aggressive tumor was hidden behind organs and muscles, he sends it to him. Wilson confirms through Foreman that it is one. The patient has surgery, they remove it successfully, and start chemotherapy.
During the rest of the week, House does not see Wilson. He occasionally hears about him through his team, generally just mentioning that they asked him for an opinion.
Except on Friday.
It had been a tiring week, and after solving 4 major cases (and multiple small ones), they finally had a bit of a break. House had chosen to use the time to eat out.
Sipping on his milkshake, he walks back to his office slowly, enjoying the quietness of his corridor, when he hears whispers.
Carefully moving his cane, he stops to lean against the wall and listen.
“And, I mean, he may just be embarrassed about the kiss,” Cameron says in a hushed tone, “he seems… sensitive that way. Like you, Chase.”
“What ? Sensitive ?”
Chase sounds outraged, enough to make Foreman chuckle. “Yeah, I get it. You’re both, you know. Cute.”
“Exactly ! Cute and sensitive.”
“I am not cute and sensitive.” Chase seems a bit hesitant. “Well, Wilson definitely is. But I’ll let you know I’m quite the man, really. And I wouldn’t kiss House.”
House chooses this moment to come in.
He wishes he had a camera to record their faces. Foreman looks like he does not want to be there, Chase’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are red, and Cameron looks as embarrassed as humanely possible. She’s quick to recover her composure, but not quick enough.
“So, you saw. Which one of you ?”
“Me. I was waiting to give you some test results back,” Cameron says, as brave as usual, “sorry.”
“Well, what can you do.”
Their faces brighten a bit when they understand House is not mad at them. It pushes Chase to say “you don’t look bad together at least !”, even if a quick stare is enough to make him shut up.
“Wilson can definitely do better. Sorry,” Foreman adds to House, visibly not sorry in the slightest, “you’re just too crazy for him. You give the man ten panic attacks a day. It’s torture, really.”
“While I appreciate your very obvious interest in my personal life,” House answers while staring at them, “I would prefer if you used your tiny little braincells to work on more cases. Like the one I got right there.”
After a collective groan, they all get back to work.
And still no Wilson.
House does not enjoy confrontation and big talks ; he thrives on avoiding them. He hates having to deal with people and his feelings and their feelings and their desires and needs and expectations. A giant mess that he likes to ignore.
But he can’t ignore it when it’s about Wilson. His only friend.
Besides, accidentally kissing your friend cannot be that bad.
He’s kept away at night, wondering what to do. It hadn’t been unpleasant to kiss him. Well, if one could even call that a kiss. He’s always had a soft spot for Wilson, which everyone knew about ; even patients mistake them as a couple.
Sure, House is not great with feelings. He does not feel like he wants to marry Wilson - and be added to the list of Wilson’s partners -, but can he really deny the rest ? His friend is incredibly attractive, charming, even, and it doesn’t take much to imagine him squirming and begging.
He goes to sleep before he can imagine anything else.
When he goes back to work, he sees Wilson in the corridor, or passing through the waiting room ; every time, he avoids his stare, and a blush blooms on his cheeks. But he doesn’t go chat with House.
House misses their little chats.
So, he creates a plan.
The clock indicates 8pm when he pages Wilson. They’re both stuck doing extra hours - House used Cameron to make sure - for the clinic, with an almost empty waiting room and the night to run extra tests and research.
‘Hot patient to diag, exam room 1’, he types with a frown, sending it immediately.
Wilson writes back two minutes later to indicate that he is coming.
House only has to wait for a couple of minutes before Wilson knocks on the door. From his seat on the examination table, he invites him in.
Wilson keeps his eyes on his feet as he comes in, only looking up once inside. Confusion appears on his face, followed by a deep frown. “Where’s your patient ?”
House looks around innocently. “Oh, I guess she flew out the window, my bad.” He shrugs. “Well, guess it’s time to talk, then.”
Realisation replaces Wilson’s confused frown. House can hear the cogs turning and putting the pieces together. “Oh. Did she ?”
“Yeah. But I do need your help with a diagnosis.” The doctor pushes himself off the table, leaving his cane against it. He limps towards him in a casual manner. “Do you mind ?”
Pinching his lips, Wilson looks away for a couple of seconds. Finally, he sighs, “no, but make it quick.”
“Okay then,” House slightly smiles, “we have dilated pupils, slightly dry mouth, red cheeks, I’m guessing an accelerated heartbeat and,” he moves his hand to grab Wilson’s, the gesture being fully professional, “and sweaty palms. Differential diagnosis ?”
“I…” Wilson opens his mouth but no words come out. He blushes a bit harder, looking away sheepishly. House quietly slides his hand up to touch his wrist, feeling his pulse. As predicted, his heartbeat is above average.
“Well, Wilson ?”
Wilson seems to snap out of it. He shakes his head, steps back, House’s arm falling back against his side. “I can’t believe you made me come here to play doctor. I was with a patient, I have other things to do, House.”
House rolls his eyes, walking around him to keep him from leaving. “Come on, Wilson. Indulge me. Differential diagnosis ?”
It’s Wilson’s turn to roll his eyes. His eyes find the door, and he seems to seriously consider it. If he wanted to, it wouldn’t take much to go past House. Not that House isn’t strong - Wilson knows he is -, but he’s definitely not faster.
House watches as his brain overworks to find a way out of that situation. Maybe he should have tried to get it out of him differently. Feelings… are not his expertise.
“Fine, it’s attraction, so what ?” Wilson raises his arms, visibly annoyed. “Who cares ? You’re not terrible to look at, and you’ll get the same reaction if I look at a random woman outside or, hell, if I look at a nice plate of spaghetti. Which, by the way, has definitely gone cold in my office because of you.”
“Choosing me over spaghetti, I’m flattered.”
“Can I go now or do you want to analyse me some more ?” Wilson asks while taking a step forward, stopping directly in front of him, waiting for him to move.
House does not move. He looks down at the slightly smaller doctor and shakes his head. “Come on, that’s not fun. Give me something to work with.”
Usually, Wilson would avoid his eyes - maybe because they’re too blue ? Someone had told that to House before -, but he must be angry enough to not be uncomfortable. He stares at him, the frown on his face making him look a bit older. “Give you something to work with ? What about ‘let me do my job’ ?”
“What about ‘tell me what’s going on in your pretty head, James, or I’ll start assuming’ ?”
The oncologist looks at his feet, ears turning red from anger and embarrassment. When he looks back up, House can see the embarrassment spreading on his face. “Fine ! Have it your way, as usual ! I give up !”
Satisfaction rushes through his body, soon replaced by the telltale signs of arousal. He has to keep himself from acting on it. “Say it, then.”
“I… didn’t hate what happened last week,” he breathes out, closing his eyes and grimacing a bit, “I just needed time to think about it.”
“Which conclusions did you reach ?” When he sees Wilson’s pout, he decides to help him out a bit. “Are you, perhaps, wanting to try doing that again ? Of course, just to make sure you don’t want more. Nothing weird.”
Wilson opens his mouth, closes it, unable to keep eye contact. His cheeks are now as red as his lips, and he’s visibly trying to not fidget with anything. When he talks, his voice is a bit shaky. “W… whatever.”
“Fine, then.” House leans forward a bit, but frowns when he notices Wilson still won’t look at him. Softly, he moves his hand to grab his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. “Have it your way.” He repeats calmly before stepping back and crossing his arms.
“No, look, I…” Wilson presses two fingers against his temple, as if to push away a painful headache. “I haven’t… I’ve been thinking about it too much. I think it’d… help to… well.”
“You sound like a high school girl, Wilson.”
It’s enough to reduce Wilson’s stress levels, which gives him the perfect opportunity to act. He steps forward again, hand softly cupping his jawline, before leaning in and closing his eyes. When their lips touch, it feels right. House’s assumptions are correct ; Wilson’s lips are extremely soft, tasting faintly of cherry. He must use cherry chapstick.
But Wilson does not move. He does not deepen the kiss, does not move his arms or hands, he just lets it happen to him.
It pisses House off.
In one swift motion, he moves his hand and runs it through his hair, grabbing the back of his head. The other stops on his neck, enjoying the warmth of his skin.
As payback, he pulls his hair. Wilson opens his mouth to yelp, which is when House pushes his tongue in his mouth. Tasting his friend feels a bit strange for his routine-driven brain, but he welcomes it.
Wilson’s arm comes up between them, but he does not push him away, simply frowning against him while House explores his mouth. When he probes his still tongue, James finally accepts to move, letting them dance together in a probably obscene way. Someone could walk in…
When House moves to let both breath, he doesn’t give him enough time to talk. He attacks again, devouring his lips like a starving man, playing with his tongue, biting his bottom lip, pulling his hair. His second hand rests on his neck, fingers automatically going for his pulse. House knows how to kiss ; he focuses on that so hard Wilson ends up groaning into his mouth.
Satisfied, House steps back. He licks his lips, takes a nice breath, before saying, “so, did it help ?”
Wilson looks disheveled. The back of his hair has been messed up by House’s hand, his cheeks are red, and his lips are even redder, ever so slightly swollen and shining. “I…” It takes him a couple of seconds to successfully maintain eye contact. “N… Not quite.”
House doesn’t have the self control to resist anyway. How could he when faced with such a sight ? He moves to cup his face again. “Got the diagnosis, but tough treatment.”
“Can be a bit difficult sometimes. Wrong dosage, maybe.” Wilson whispers, and, this time, he’s the one closing the distance. House lets him lead.
The kiss is softer, deeper, a bit less aggressive, too. Wilson’s hands are curious but careful, holding onto his arms as he leans forward. He tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss without bumping noses, his mouth warm and inviting. House feels… tingly.
While his pace is enjoyable, House doesn’t want just that. He pushes back until Wilson is stuck between him and the wall, and he kisses him with all he has again. His hands find Wilson’s waist - which is surprisingly small for a man of his height - while his mouth swallows small sighs and groans.
When he breaks the kiss for air, he cannot resist the temptation of kissing his jawline and neck, his fingers drawing circles on his waist.
Wilson softly leans back until his head hits the wall, exhaling loudly through his mouth. “Well, uh, okay. That’s…” He blinks a few times, visibly confused but satisfied.
“I think the dosage right, now. What do you think ?”
Wilson clears his throat, still not able to look at him directly. “I… I think so too.”
House takes a small step back to look at him. His blue eyes pierce holes through Wilson, until they fall on his hand. His ring shines softly. “But I don’t play with married men, James.”
And with that, he leaves the room and a completely flustered Wilson against the wall.