Disclaimer: I do not own House M.D.

"Shit!"

House's shin roughly hit against one of the multitude of boxes littering the apartment's floor. Cursing underneath his breath, House maneuvered around the boxes with a scowl.

"James!" he yelled, peeved, "James!"

"Yeah?" Wilson's head poked out from the bedroom door, another box in hand. House hobbled forward, glancing at the apartment as though it was a nasty fungus growing in the shower curtains.

"How many more boxes do you have?" he growled gruffly.

"These are all of them."

"You're practically a woman!" House accused, motioning towards the boxes. "What's in all of these, shoes? Handbags?"

Wilson smiled playfully, kissing House softly on the lips as a greeting. "You're home early."

"The hospital doesn't know I'm gone. So technically, I'm not home at all. Not for another hour and a half."

From inside the bathroom, Wilson chuckled. House limped after him curiously, watching Wilson rummage around the boxes looking for toiletries and shampoos to fill the shower stalls. Ambiguously interested, House peered into a box perched on the sink ledge. He groaned as he found Wilson's notorious hairdryer lying on top of fuzzy towels. He picked it up, pointing it at Wilson accusingly.

"You brought this?" he spat.

Wilson shrugged, "I like to look put together," he eyed House's hair, "something you could learn from."

House rolled his eyes. "This thing is a construction site. We – we have to make some sort of timetable about when you're allowed to use it."

The oncologist laughed softly, "Why do I love you?" he shook his head at the shower curtain.

"Because there's something very irresistible about drug-addicted cripples with bad tempers." House muttered, sending the hair dryer one more glare before he shuffled forward on the bathroom rug and wrapped his arms around Wilson's waist from behind. Letting out a content sigh, House settled his head on the oncologist's shoulder and gently stroked his stomach. Wilson shivered slightly at the contact, moving to twist in the older man's embrace. With a small smile, Wilson snaked his arms up to caress House's hair and pressed their mouths together languorously.

"No, that's not it," Wilson teased, "maybe it's because you're a doctor." Slipping away from House's grip, Wilson slithered through the boxes to grab a snack from the kitchen.

When House had hobbled over to his countertop, Wilson had already fixed himself a sloppy sandwich. House grinned at him before hopping onto one of the stools nearby, drumming his knuckles against the counter.

"Want to go out tonight?" Wilson offered, "You know, as a celebration of my moving in."

"I have a much better idea." House husked seductively.

"And what's that?"

"How about we stay in… and postpone packing." House suggested with a waggle of the eyebrows. Wilson leant across the counter, grinning.

"Then I'll never unpack!" he pointed out, raking a hand through his hair.

"You will, just not today," House pleaded, running fingers down Wilson's arm teasingly. He slowly traced abstract patterns on the oncologist's elbow with a fingertip.

"It's just not a good idea, Greg, I – oh."

House's hand slithered its way down to Wilson's hip, where it pinched the skin through the thin fabric of his trousers playfully. Leaning across the counter with tantalizingly slow effort to do so, he placed his parted lips on Wilson's jugular and let his suppressed breath out there. Wilson's breath hitched in his throat with a noisy swallow.

"Still want to unpack?" He mumbled, thumbs ghosting over the younger man's thighs.

Wilson fisted House's shirt in his hands roughly, "You tease." He growled throatily, slamming House down onto the kitchen counter. The diagnostician groaned as his back made contact with the stiff counter, but his pain was immediately forgotten as Wilson grabbed his hair and frantically pressed their mouths together, hoisting himself up so he was halfway lying on House. But the moment only lasted for another three seconds. In the midst of his passion, Wilson climbed onto the counter, his knee pushing a box full of wooden spoons and spice bottles onto the floor with a crash. The two men instantly pulled apart, eyes riveting downward to examine what had fallen.

"Damnit!" Wilson cursed underneath his breath, hopping off the counter and tending to the nutmeg and cinnamon that was smothered on the carpet. "Oh, that was my last bottle of curry!" Frustratingly, Wilson threw an empty bottle into the trash can, scooping up the spices into his hands.

House attempted to dislodge his foot from the kitchen sink, his shin making hard contact with the spout. He struggled to get off the counter, handing Wilson a broom.

"That is a strong smell," House immediately wafted at his nose, eyes wide, "very fragrant. What is that?"

"It's cumin. Sorry about this, Greg, but looks like your carpet is going to stink of it for the next few months."

House sighed but didn't press on it, instead joining Wilson on the floor and gently stroking fingers through his scalp. Wilson pressed his head into the touch, an unnoticeable purring sound escaping his lips. Silence ran through the air, leaving House to his ginger massaging and Wilson to his tidying.

Picking up a broken cinnamon bottle, House held it to his nostrils, smiling, "I love cinnamon," he remarked, "it reminds me of Christmas. Before… before things got bad between me and my dad at home when I was younger, every holiday my mother would bake these cookies. And they weren't gingerbread, because I was allergic, so it was cinnamon that would take its place. Despite the fact that they were only baked once during all of winter that smell would be practically embedded in the walls." Sighing softly, House twisted the bottle in his palm.

Wilson looked up at him, beaming, "I never knew that," he told him quietly, one nutmeg-coated hand reaching up to lightly brush along House's cheek, "it's nice."

"Not really," House shook his head, "It's a spoiled memory. After my dad and I got into all sorts of trouble the smell of cinnamon during Christmastime only reminded me of home, and home was no longer a place I wanted to remember."

Smiling sadly, Wilson hooked an arm around the older doctor's shoulder to pull him into a one-armed embrace. House fell into it, his head dropping wearily onto Wilson's shoulder. "And now? What's home to you now?"

House lifted his head from his perch on Wilson, smiling at him, "You." he mumbled, pressing their mouths together and promptly dropping the cinnamon bottle to the floor so his hand could wrap its way around Wilson's neck.

"You're getting spice all over my clothes." The brown-haired man murmured against House's lips, laughing.

House joined in on the laughing, "Maybe you should take off your clothes," he hinted in a low whisper, "you know. Before it sets in." He attempted to bring their mouths together again but Wilson wriggled from the older man's grip, setting the fallen box upright and standing up.

"Oh, you're not distracting me from unpacking again. I have work to do!"

House groaned, throwing his head back as he reached for his vicodin pills, "Fine." He agreed, tossing a pill into his mouth, "So! Where's your box of sex?"

Wilson knitted his eyebrows together, looking up from one of the boxes, "Box. Of sex?" he repeated slowly.

House nodded, "Yeah. You know, porn, dirty magazines, lube, toys, all of that."

"Why do you think I have one of those?"

"I don't think so. I would like to, but I'm not seeing it happening." House shrugged, sighing, resting his hip against the counters.

Wilson buried his head into one of the boxes. "Third shelf in the closet." he muttered shamefacedly, the one part of his forehead peeking out from the book tinged scarlet. House grinned.

"I think I'll go help unload that box."

--

House's arms were wrapped firmly around Wilson's undoubtedly naked body, his back pressed tightly against the diagnostician's chest and his unruly brown hair ruffling the stubble underneath his chin. A soft, untroubled sigh escaped from his lips as he gently tangled his legs with Wilson's. The sleeping man made a dissatisfied noise, burrowing closer and nestling his back further against House's chest. House smiled.

He couldn't fall asleep.

It was strange, seeing that House had everything he needed to. A calm, quiet bedroom. Not a lot of work ahead of him for the next day. A loving man in his arms. Warm sheets hooked up to his chest.

But there was something plaguing the back of House's mind. Wilson was a loyal partner with much devotion and compassion, but House also knew that Wilson had a big problem with keeping relationships steady. It would be somewhat appropriate to give the oncologist Idiot's Guide To Marriage for his birthday as a present. And the only thing House was worried about was that Wilson was going to wriggle himself free of this relationship as well.

His grip on Wilson tightening instinctively, arms wrapping protectively around his torso as he planted tender kisses in his hair. Wilson murmured appreciatively in the back of his throat, twisting in House's embrace so he was breathing steadily into House's neck.

The older man gently ran his leg up Wilson's thigh, biting his lip when he felt him stir in his arms. Once Wilson's eyes fluttered open sleepily, House apologetically kissed his forehead.

"…Greg?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, "couldn't sleep."

Wilson slid a hand up and down House's chest soothingly, propping himself up on his elbow. "What's wrong?" he asked imploringly. "Can I help?" Wilson trailed a line of feathery, comforting kisses down his neckline.

"Am… am I your wife, James?" House asked bluntly.

"What? My wife?"

"You've divorced three of them. That's a whole lot of wives."

Wilson disentangled himself slightly from their entwined bodies, leaning back to stare incredulously at House. "You think I'm going to mess up this relationship just like my others?"

"I don't think you'll mess it up," House continued, "I think you'll get bored of me."

Wilson smiled faintly at the older doctor. Ever since the whole chaos with loving Wilson had begun, House's insecurities had shined more prominently than ever. Wilson captured their lips together in a soft kiss.

"I think that's absolutely impossible," he remarked, "Greg House is all but boring."

Both of them laughing quietly, Wilson wrapped his arms firmly around House's waist and burrowed them closer together, smiling against his chest. "I love you." he murmured against his skin.

"I love you too."

--

"Something smells strange."

Wilson expertly ran a wooden spoon along a sizzling hot pan, smiling up at a pajama-clad House, limping barefoot along the floor with his cane by his side.

"It smells strange? Not good?"

"Of course it smells good. But I don't normally have good smells in my apartment so the smell is strange." House reasoned logically, shuffling behind Wilson to peer over his shoulder.

"Eggs in a bread bowl. My secret recipe."

"I want your special pancakes," House whined, "the ones you made when you last lived here – I, oh, mm."

Halfway in between his sentence Wilson stuffed a spoonful of egg into his mouth, grinning satisfyingly when House groaned appreciatively.

"Gimme that spoon!" The older man demanded, snatching it up from Wilson's grip. He ate a few more mouthfuls hungrily, Wilson laughing at his greediness before he seized the pan away from House's reach.

"Hey!" House exclaimed indignantly.

"I want some too!" Wilson told him.

"So do I!"

"You already ate half the pan's worth!"

Wilson held the pan discreetly at his back, laughing when House pawed at it, "Give it to the cripple, c'mon!"

Wilson pushed a finger to House's lips, shaking his head, "I get a kiss, you get a spoonful."

"Deal." House murmured against Wilson's finger before he batted his hand away and pressed their mouths together. Wilson moaned as House's tongue flickered its way into the equation, running all over Wilson's mouth. Wilson almost dropped the pan on the floor to pull House closer, but not before House pulled away suddenly, hand expectantly outstretched.

"For that, I think you may just get two spoonfuls."

--

House was stretched out languidly on the couch, vaguely registering the noises from the TV and the noises coming from Wilson unpacking the rest of the boxes in the bedroom. He idly pressed the play button on his answering machine, listening as Cuddy's tinny voice broke through.

"House? I know that it's stressful having Wilson moving in and I'm sure you have a lot of unpacking to do, but your team has been working on a case all by themselves today… if you could make it in tomorrow…?"

House chuckled, promptly deleting the message. "Foreman can handle it," he murmured to the phone, turning his attention back to the TV.

"Was that Cuddy?" Wilson asked, leaning in the doorway with clothes hangers swinging in his palm.

"Yup."

"Does she need us to come in?"

"I'm sure everything's fine," House muttered, nodding his head, "I guess she's not used to me being occupied with something else. And you know, being happy and all."

Wilson walked over to the back of the couch, his hands sliding down House's chest and slipping into his shirt. Cheek pressing against House's uncultivated hair, he mumbled, "I'm used to you being happy. It's nice."

House looked over his shoulder, softly kissing at Wilson's hairline, "Almost done unpacking?"

"Only a few boxes left. Want to help?"

"Not really." House shook his head, "Cleaning is going to make me a tidier person, and that is just not who you fell in love with."

Wilson pressed a chaste kiss to House's hair before he slid his hands out of House's shirt and vanished back into the bedroom to finish unpacking.

--

"All done. I am officially moved in."

"C'mere!" House motioned for Wilson to join him on the couch, waving his hand invitingly. Grasping the younger man's fingers, House pulled him onto his lap and absentmindedly stroked his hair. "How do you want to celebrate?"

"We could… eat out."

House raised an eyebrow, "Does that scream celebration to you?" he scoffed, "I was thinking more along the lines of calling in sick for the next week of work." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, running a hand up Wilson's thigh.

"Both of us?" Wilson inquired, "doesn't that look suspicious, Greg?"

House shook his head, "Of course not! We live together; if I catch a cold you naturally would as well."

"A whole week? That would… would be a long celebration." Wilson tilted his head.

"Interested?" House nibbled teasingly at Wilson's neck, sucking at his jaw.

"Sounds like a good idea."

Pulling back with a grin, House wriggled himself free from Wilson's grip and stood up, reaching for his cane. "So!" he offered, "how about tonight I sleep in your bed and you sleep in my bed?"

"Same bed, Greg," Wilson pointed out.

House winked impishly. "Exactly."

AN: Sniffles. Oh god, I get so attached to a story when I write one! And to my dedicated reviewers. Stick around, all of you! Like I said before, I have two House/Wilson oneshots already in the making! I'd like to thank ALL OF YOU for your loyalty and faith in this story. It really spurred me on to write more. I have had such a blast writing this story, and you all only have yourselves to thank for that. Pat yourselves on the back!! I love you all, and any of you should feel free to come up and chat with me!

Now all I have left to say is fin.