"You're lying," House stated plainly, taking a sip from the soda in his left hand. The young girl in front of him feigned indignation, her mouth dropping open and her eyebrows shooting skyward.

"No, I'm not!" she cried, looking at her parents, both admonished.

"Our daughter would never..."

"No, it's a good thing," House said, smiling sweetly. "It means she doesn't have decreased mental capacity, which means no white matter defect, and, therein by, no cancer. However, it does mean that she's a liar. Sad, no?" Hanging the girls chart on the end of the bed, House limped out of her room and into the hallway where Wilson was waiting, hands on hips.

"She doesn't have cancer," House chirped, turning to his left and heading towards his office.

"I know," Wilson responded, striding to catch up. "She has multiple sclerosis." Stopping, House turned, his brow furrowed and mouth twisted.

"I beg to differ."

"You can differ all you want, she has MS."

"Okay." Wilson's face rose, his lips twitching.

"What?"

"I said 'okay'."

"I got that. What are you saying okay to?"

"Well, I talked to Carmen yesterday and she said that she'd leave Dave for me, so I'm saying okay to whatever you want."

"Oh, I see. Well, best of luck to you and Carmen. I'm going to tell Foreman to treat your patient for MS and then I'm going home," Wilson called over his shoulder, having turned and begun down the hallway in the same way he'd come. House smiled to himself.

"See you there."

HWHWHWHWHW

"I told her that she was ridiculous and went on with it," Wilson laughed, pressing his cell phone to his ear in an attempt to hear his sister better.

"Jimmy, when are you coming home? Mom misses you," Diana asked once she had stopped chuckling. Wilson's face dropped immediately.

"I don't know Di. Maybe around Hanukkah or the New Year, but probably not. I'm just so busy..."

"He's lying," House called from the living room, his gaze never leaving "The L Word", which was, as always, muted. Rolling his eyes, Wilson stepped into their bedroom and shut the door.

"I can't come home, Diana, you know that."

"No, James, what I know is that you won't come home. There's a difference."

"I have to go. House is getting restless."

"Fine, but you're not done talking about this. I love you," she said, before ending the call with a click. Sighing, Wilson pocketed his cell and returned to the living room where House was stroking his very exposed member. Flopping down next to House on the couch, Wilson groaned.

"Could you at least be a little more discrete about that?"

"You wanna do it for me?" House asked, allowing his head to fall back and his eyes slip shut. Shrugging, Wilson nodded.

"Sure, why not," he mumbled, as he bent at the waist and slipped his lips onto the head of House's erection. Moaning, House released his grip and entwined his now free hand in the soft hair at the nape of Wilson's neck.

"This works too," he whispered, biting his lower lip as Wilson's continued to lick, suck, and trace patterns with his tongue. Bucking his hips involuntarily, House choked back what could only be described as a growl and slid his hand down the plane of Wilson's back to cup his ass.

Wrapping his hand around the slick skin of House's shaft, Wilson slowly began to twist his fist up and down, eliciting more animal like sounds from his partner above. Pulling his kiss from House's hardened flesh, Wilson wiggled up and straddled House, leaning most of his weight on his knees before pressing his lips to House's.

"I liked what you were just doing better," House grumbled, resting his hands on Wilson's hips. Kissing a trail across House's jaw and down his neck, sucking softly and inevitably leaving yet another rouge hicky, Wilson began to unbutton House's striped oxford as House's fingers made quick work of Wilson's belt and slack buttons.

"Bed. Now," Wilson commanded, grabbing House by the neck of his undershirt and tugging them towards the bedroom, still subconsciously mindful enough of their physical states to support House's weight discretely.

Collapsing on their bed, both of them now significantly less clothed and more aroused than ten minutes ago, House and Wilson groped around in the dark for a long moment, nails raking, lips sucking and flesh heating. Placing a hand full palm on House's lower back, Wilson pushed him down onto his stomach before reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving both lube and a condom. Fumbling around, Wilson tore the wrapper open and slipped the condom on before squeezing a dollop of lube onto his fingers and straddling House again.

Placing a hand on House's waist, Wilson pushed one finger into his lover, listening as House hissed in pain and pleasure. Twisting his finger slowly, Wilson began to gently ease his partner into looseness.

"Stop messing around," House managed to gasp as Wilson inserted a second finger. Scissoring the two digits apart, Wilson settled down on House and thrusted in, removing his fingers and placing his hands on either side of House to support his weight.

Adopting a rather frantic rhythm, it was almost not time before Wilson was crying out House's name against his smooth back, the sound of their colliding skin reverberating through the apartment. Wedging his hand in between the mattress and House's tight stomach, Wilson wrapped his fist around House's cock and began to pump his fist in time with his thrusts, the entrapment of the two men's weight pressing down on his hand.

Listening to Wilson's ragged breathing, House found himself, if possible, more aroused than he'd been earlier. Unable to tell if the pressure in his abdomen was an impending orgasm or a crush injury from the combination of Wilson fist and weight, House dug his fingers into the sheets and cried out against the pillow his head was resting on.

"Oh God, Greg!" Wilson gasped as he came, collapsing on top of House. Still squeezing his fist up and down House's erection, Wilson placed a wet kiss to House's neck as he felt his lover's orgasm spill onto his hand and squish into the bed. Untwining their bodies, Wilson rolled onto his side, removing the condom and dropping it on the floor next to the bed.

Grabbing his pill bottle from the bedside table, knocked over by Wilson's hasty abandonment of the lube, House downed a Vicodin and turned onto his back, unable to ignore Wilson's sniffling.

"Alright, I give up. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Let's leave the lying to me, Wonder Boy."

"It's really nothing," Wilson spat irritably, switching sides so that his back was to House. Sighing, House turned his head to the side and watched as the moon played songs on Wilson's creamy skin. Enraptured by the sight, House extended a hand and trailed his fingers along Wilson's spine, grinning as the younger man shivered.

"Jimmy..."

"I love you," Wilson said, rolling back over, his cheeks slightly tear stained. House furrowed his brow.

"Goodnight," House responded, closing his eyes. After thirty second, he reopened one eye to find Wilson still staring at him.

"I mean it."

"This is a nightmare... that's why I can only open one eye," House mused seemingly to himself. Wilson sighed, before reaching out and twisting House's nipple. "Jesus Christ!" he yelped.

"Nope, not a nightmare."

House rubbed his chest indignantly. "You're violent. I'm not sure we can be together anymore. I just can't take the abuse."

"Greg," Wilson said, his voice softening. "I love you."

Staring at Wilson, his eyes wide with sincerity and promise, House suddenly realized why people thanked Wilson when he told them they were dying: he looked like he loved you, like he cared. Sighing again, House reached out and placed a gentle hand on Wilson's face, his partner's eyes narrowing in confusion at the uncharacteristic show of affection.

"I know you do Jimmy. But I can't love you. You know that."

You can't love me, or you won't?"

Nodding sadly, House removed his hand from Wilson's face and turned onto his side, before falling into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the only sign that anyone but House had been in his apartment in the last nine months was a haunting whisper drenched in whiskey and a single, white piece of paper.

"You made your choice. I made mine."