It never occurred to House, as he barreled casually through Wilson's office door, that there might be someone else in there. It never occurred to him because somehow he had come to believe that Wilson existed, first and foremost, at his behest. It really and truly just never occurred to him. So when he came to be standing in front of Wilson's desk, the stranger currently present in the room did not immediately register for him.

"Hey, did you see what Cuddy was wearing this morning? I mean whoa! Someone has a desperation date tonight. That blouse was so thin-"

But exactly how thin Cuddy's blouse was Wilson never found out, for House cut himself off as soon as he noticed the incredulous look on his confidant's face. Searching for the source of his friend's bemused expression, House turned around and was confronted by the quizzical face of Laura Blain, obviously a new patient of Dr. Wilson's. The woman's presence made House's face fall from amusement to annoyance in the space of a second and he looked at her with an expression that made her feel, for all the world, as if she were the intruder here.

Ever the diplomat, Wilson jumped to cover the awkward moment by making a quick introduction immediately followed by some excuse which House registered as a dismissal of his person. Frustrated that he was not able to share all the tasty details of Cuddy's latest outfit with Wilson, he decided to depart with a few parting words which would no doubt leave Wilson feeling at least a little bit embarrassed in front of his new charge.

"Well, I guess I should leave. It's probably best I don't share anymore details anyway; his head might get too loaded to pay attention to your case. And I don't mean the head on his shoulders." He then gave Ms. Blain an exaggeratedly meaningful wink and walked out the door, moving just slowly enough to watch her expression move from slight confusion to mild disgust.

Satisfied that Wilson would suffer at least a mild humiliation from his comment, House trudged down the hall toward his own office. Serves him right for ruining their morning ritual. Everyday was the same. House came in, discussed the status of his latest patient with the team, sent them off to tests whatever brilliant theory had befallen him during the differential and while he waited for the results, he went to Wilson's office to enjoy a little bit of warm coffee and hot gossip.

It was a well established fact that House hated deviations from his ingrained habits but his level of annoyance with this morning's affairs, he had to admit, surprised even him Lowering himself gingerly on to his office recliner House tried to ignore the knot that was churning forcefully in his stomach, a knot which, if he had to give a name to it, might be called jealousy. Putting his full weight against the back of the recliner, House began to twirl his cane as he stared resolutely off into space. He needed to think.

Quickly lost in the swirling vortex of his own inner monologue, House soon found himself startled by the sound of his own office door as Wilson entered the dim room not ten minutes later. Halting the twirling of his cane, House gave Wilson his full attention. He watched as Wilson leaned casually against his bookshelves. The sleeves of his collared, button-down, pastel pink shirt were rolled up almost to the elbows which stuck out slightly on either side of his frame, the result of his cross-armed stance. He was giving House the rehearsed look of annoyance which he seemed to feel was necessary any time the grouchy doctor did or said anything moderately inappropriate.

The look was so familiar to House he found it endearing, and as he soaked it in, the knot in his stomach morphed, becoming a lot less angry and a little bit…excited. The two men simply stared at each other for quite some time and when House began to feel that the experience was becoming a little too intimate he spoke.

"All those women you cheated on and you still don't know how to avoid getting walked in on?"

Wilson smiled at his friend's implication and replied in kind.

"I didn't realize we had any sort of exclusive obligation to one another."

"So…what? Are you saying you wanna wear my pin?" House asked sardonically.

"I dunno. Are you saying you want to pin me?" Wilson asked a bit flirtatiously, the smile still firmly on his face.

At this response House experienced a nervous pleasurable tingling in his stomach. Of course, he knew what the expected protocol was here. Whenever his and Wilson's conversations reached this point -- which they seemed to have been doing with much greater frequency these days -- he was expected to make some sarcastic or snarky comment which would dissipate the tension. Then they two could go on as if nothing happened. But today, for no particular reason, House felt like pushing the matter. So instead of contorting his face into the expected expression of exaggerated mockery he simply continued to stare at Wilson's face and whispered one simple word.

"Maybe." It came out in a breathy growl and afterward he smiled a little hesitantly at Wilson whose eyebrows twitched upward. House watched as his companion broke eye contact to look at the books which were eye level with him on the shelf.

After a brief pause he said, while still resolutely avoiding House's gaze, "Or I could pin you."

House watched as Wilson jerked his head down to examine his shoes. He then chanced a glance back at House and as their eyes connected again, House felt a lump begin to form in his throat. This was unfamiliar territory and he was beginning to get scared. A dense silence descended on them which seemed to perpetually fold over on itself, becoming exponentially more claustrophobic. When it seemed Wilson could stand the awkwardness no more, he began babbling.

"So what's up? What did you want to talk to me about? If I remember correctly, it had something to do with Cuddy's clothing."

House recalled his gossip tidbits perfectly but suddenly, for some reason, they did not seem quite as compelling as they had half an hour ago.

"Never mind. I'm pretty sure you have better things to do than engage in a conversation with me that could end up getting you sued for sexual harassment."

"What does that mean?"

House was becoming rapidly more and more uncomfortable with Wilson's presence and proximity and his discomfort caused him to be quite harsh as be blurted out, "It means I'm telling you to get out."

House watched as Wilson face moved from mild shock at first to hurt confusion as the realization dawned on him that House was being serious. Then, without saying a word he turned around and walked out.

Normally House telling Wilson to 'get out' would not have fazed Wilson, but House was in no doubt as to why it had hurt him this time. He could not exactly put into words what had transpired during the short span of time the two of them had talked in his office. But he knew he had felt something change…shift over somehow. They had become – House didn't know any other way to put it – intimate.

His first impulse, as he had watched Wilson leave, was to barrel after him, but House quashed that instinct quickly and fervently. The answer to this situation was to avoid Wilson, not seek him out. Not that he could avoid Wilson indefinitely; House had no delusions about how profoundly dependant he was on his friend. That was, in fact, precisely why avoidance was called for here. House could not afford to gamble his friendship away on…well, whatever it was he was feeling. And he refused to give the feeling a name, even within the privacy of his own thoughts. That would only give it greater credence.

After all, emotions were just electrical and chemical impulses operating in the brain, House reminded himself. They weren't real, they did not mean anything, there was no ultimate truth to them. The thought might have given him some comfort if images of Wilson pinning him to various walls had not kept flashing through his mind intermittently. The uncontrollable fantasies were causing blood to collect in his lower abdomen at an alarming rate.

Perhaps the feeling weren't real…but the effects, House was forced to concede, certainly were. At the moment they were making his jeans uncomfortably tight.

His office was still dark as Thirteen marched purposefully in to give him an update. She started talking without looking at him, enthralled, it seemed, by the file in her hand; enthralled, that was, until she realized she could barely read it for lack of light. Looking around quizzically, she halted her medical monologue to ask, "Why is it so dark in here?"

However, as soon as she got a half decent look at her bosses face, the young doctor no longer required an explanation. She could tell by the distant melancholy look in his eyes that he was in one of his more somber moods. Sitting in the dark while depressed probably appealed to House's penchant for metaphor, despite the fact that cliché was not usually his style.

Thirteen remained silent for a moment, waiting for House to acknowledge her presence. When he finally looked her in the eye she asked, almost hopefully, "Something wrong?"

House could tell, even in his highly distracted state, that Thirteen had glimpsed his inner turmoil and obviously considered this situation an opportunity to learn something personal about him. Normally that would be his queue to deflect but as he considered her earnest face, House conceded that confessing might just glean him something moderately helpful in this instance. Something helpful enough to make the baring of a tiny piece of his soul worth it. After all, if there was anyone in his world who might be qualified to offer him advice about his…situation…it was her.

"Are you doing anything after work?" House asked her abruptly in a slightly broken voice.

Thirteen looked taken aback at his question but recovered quickly and said, as casually as she could muster, "No."

"You want to go get a friendly drink with me?" House asked, half hoping she would refuse.

House could see she was trying very hard not to smile as she said, "Sure, I'd be glad to."

She smiled understandingly at him and then immediate launched back into her patient update as if the whole conversation had not just happened. It was times like these that House came to appreciate Thirteen's uniqueness in comparison to the last female employee he had who, sometimes, just could not take a hint.

They met at The Rolling Stone, a bar two blocks from the hospital. It was a regular hide out for House and he and Wilson often met there to get some degree of shit-faced. House got there before his drinking companion and had already knocked back a shot of tequila and half a Coors by the time Thirteen came strolling in. She had her hands in the pockets of her tight jeans, and her lose hair was bouncing around her shoulders as she walked towards him.

House smiled at her as she approached. She took the seat next to him at the bar and as she put down her purse and began to remove her jacket she ordered a glass of Merlot from the attentive bartender. House waited until her full glass had a big sip removed before launching into what was going to be an unavoidably awkward conversation.

"I guess you're wondering why I called you here today," House said a bit theatrically to his beer bottle.

"No, I haven't really thought about it," Thirteen said with overt casualty, smiling as she did so. House could tell she was trying to make him more comfortable and to his surprise it was mildly effective. Or maybe the alcohol was just starting to take hold.

"So, I have this friend…" House began.

"That you're in love with," Thirteen interjected.

House's gaze was ripped from the label on his beer bottle, as he came to stare almost guiltily at his employee. She used that moment to take another sizable swig of red liquid from her glass, merely glancing at him from the corner of her eye. House had to admit, he had underestimated her. He simply watched as she slowly lowered her glass and turned her head to face him head on, blinking at him once or twice as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary.

He looked back at his bottle for a moment and lifted it half way to his mouth before asking, "What makes you say that?"

Throwing his head back, House took a huge swallow of the bubbly bitter liquid before slamming the glass back on the counter, bracing himself for Thirteen's response.

"Because if it were anything else you'd be here with him right now, not me."

"I don't know if 'in love' is precisely the right term," House muttered contemplatively after a moment.

"Then what is?" Thirteen shot back.

He shrugged in earnest, hunching over his disappearing drink in a manner of defeat. The two sat in silence for a couple of long moments. Then Thirteen drew a formative breath and said, "When I was in High School, I had a best friend named Max. She was amazing, awesome. She was smart and funny and we spent every waking minute together that we could. We talked about everything with each other—cute boys, physics homework, our stupid parents, our hopes and dreams…"

House listened attentively to her speech, which was unfurling in a quick monotone voice, waiting for the inevitable moral which he feared would be so cliché he might just vomit.

"Before then I never really considered women to be a…possibility for me. But one night I was staying over at her house and we just started making out. We dated for two years after that."

"You better make your point soon because I'm starting to get horny over here," House said to her without heat.

"My point," Thirteen said, "is that I learned something really valuable from that experience."

House turned his head to look at her, an expression of slight skepticism on his face.

"So lay it on me, Aesop."

"I learned that it's kind of ridiculous to try and plan who you are going to be attracted to tomorrow."

House was not typically one to abide by fortune cookie wisdom but he had to admit, her one-liner packed quite a punch. He then watched her down what was left of her drink, pick up her purse and put on her jacket. She stood up from her barstool, and, as if in slow motion, he watched her lean down to kiss him on the cheek. Moving her face back just enough so she could look into his eyes she then whispered, "He wants you too, you know."

Hard as he tried, House could not manage to contain the grin that formed on his face as he watched Thirteen start to walk back toward the door from whence she had come. He turned on his stool to watch her go, appreciating the sway of her hips as she made her way gracefully through the smoky crowded room.

Unfortunately for House, his appreciation did not go unnoticed by a certain Oncologist whose presence in the shadows of the bar had yet to be made known to him.

Wilson had come into the bar a good 45 minutes before House had shown up. Having already knocked back two martinis, Wilson still was in no mood to contend with the diagnostician as he watched him walk through the establishment's front entrance. Fortunately he had planned for this eventuality. Wilson had deliberately picked a table in the back corner near the bathrooms – a vantage point from which he could see the main serving area of the bar (where he and House usually sat) but where he knew he could not be seen.

And of course House, being the creature of habit that he was, never even looked around for another place to sit as he entered. Which gave Wilson the chance to watch the whole scene with House and Thirteen play out uninterrupted, albeit without sound.

For most of the time he was watching, Wilson didn't exactly know what to make of their meeting. It appeared to be personal - he'd even go so far as to call it intimate - but not exactly romantic or sexual. That was, until he saw Thirteen kiss House on the cheek and watched him smile at her devilishly as she walked away. It was House's smile, more than anything, that got his stomach churning.

For a few minutes after Thirteen had vacated the bar, Wilson simply sat in his hidden corner and fumed, watching House finish off the rest of his beer with easy. The bastard even had the audacity to continue smiling in that roguish way which Wilson couldn't deny made him look even more attractive. And when it looked as if House was getting ready to leave, Wilson made the split second decision to confront him.

Just as House was pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, Wilson began striding toward the barstool which still stood empty next to the object of his attentions. As House was searching through the folded leather for the correct bills, Wilson slipped into the vacated seat and said, "Whiskey on the rocks."

As was expected, House immediately stopped what he was doing to stare at the familiar voice. Without giving him a chance to say anything Wilson started in.

"So, you're seeing Thirteen. Interesting choice. I really would have thought it would be you and Cuddy. You two seemed to be reaching your collective boiling point, but I see now that she was just a red herring. Gotta say you fooled me. Or is it the other way around? You and Cuddy still on and Thirteen's actually the red herring?"

Wilson paused to take a sip of the golden liquid which had been placed in front of him during his tirade. House could tell from Wilson's tone that he had witness the meeting with Thirteen and had gotten completely the wrong impression. Which left him in the very bizarre situation of feeling both sorry that he hurt his friend and elated that his friend was hurt by the misunderstanding, because it meant that Thirteen had been right.

Dealing with delicate situations, such as the one in which they now found themselves, had never been one of House's strong suits. Before he could think better of the notion House found himself replying in kind to the verbal assault, "Actually, neither of them is a red herring. That meeting was, in fact, called to test the idea of a threesome. No surprise, Thirteen's in. I'm meeting Cuddy in about ten minutes see where she stands on the issue."

Of course it was meant to be sarcastic, but as House watched Wilson's face scrunch up slightly and turn to stone, he realized that this time he should have dispensed with the verbal games this time and stuck with the boring truth.

"Wilson," House began, but he could see the damage had already been done as Wilson chugged what was left of his drink and slammed the glass back on the counter with excess force.

"Enjoy your threesome," Wilson growled before standing up and walking out in a huff.

House knew he would have to eventually go after his friend but realizing it would probably be best if he gave Wilson a little space first, House turned back to bar simply buried his face in his right hand. Which was apparently the same moment the bartender felt it was appropriate to ask, "So you're paying for him, right?"

After waiting just a beat, House removed the hand from his face and said, "Yes, I'm paying for him." He immediately reached for his wallet again thinking that it was usually Wilson who was paying for him. The role reversal seemed oddly appropriate, somehow.

Fifteen minutes later House found himself standing outside Wilson's apartment. Lifting his cane he banged it three times against Wilson's large oak door. A long silence followed. House knew Wilson was home because he'd seen Wilson's car in the parking lot when he drove in, which meant that Wilson was deliberately avoiding him. He lifted his cane again and proceeded to knock repeatedly, occasionally getting more forceful and thus louder, until he heard Wilson shout a muffled "ALL RIGHT!"

House ceased his knocking and listened as footsteps approached from the other side of the door. He listened as the chain lock and dead bolt were undone and watched the door jerk open to reveal Wilson still dressed in his work clothes but without shoes. His hair was quite tussled, as if he'd been running his fingers through it compulsively. The agonized look in his eyes inspired in House some pity and just a dollop of distain. Sometimes his friend could be so dramatic.

Trying to sound as neutral as possible he asked, "Can I come in?"

Wilson simply stood there staring for quite some time and just when House was sure he was going to get the door slammed in his face, Wilson opened it further and walked away toward his kitchen. House accepted the cold invitation to enter and closed the door behind him, taking off his coat as he listened to a beer bottle being opened in the next room.

House was in agreement, more alcohol was definitely called for here. He walked over to the kitchen and looked at Wilson whose hands were clutching his kitchen counter, his shoulders hunched, his face parallel to the floor. Addressing the top of his friend's head, House asked, "Can I have one of those?"

He pointed at the beer bottle which sat on the counter directly between Wilson's splayed hands. Wilson turned his head up and asked, "Would it stop you if I said no?"

"Probably not," House answered fairly, moving to open the right hand stainless steal door of Wilson fridge.

He grabbed one of the green bottles which were sitting in unnaturally straight rows on the second shelf, opened it and took a big swig. He then watched Wilson grab his own beer from the counter-top and do the same, keeping the beer in his hand as he moved back toward the living room.

House followed, hoping that Wilson would finally pick a spot and stay there for more than a minute so they could actually talk.

No sooner had House made that mental wish than he watched Wilson lowered himself on to the arm of his large, suede sofa. Placing his elbows on his knees Wilson let the bottle hand hang between his open legs. He turned his head upward to look House, who was still standing up a few feet away, directly in the eye. House understood this pose as Wilson's final preparedness to listen.

Not knowing exactly where to begin, House cleared his throat and asked, a little more aggressively than he had intended, "You do know I was kidding, right? Back there in the bar-"

Wilson said nothing and merely continued to stare at House, his face impassive.

"Well, I was kidding," House went on heatedly. "There is no threesome, I'm not seeing Thirteen, it was all just…nothing!"

As Wilson continued to stare blankly at him, House began to get annoyed.

"So, what? Are we good now, are you pissed for some other reason? What?!"

Wilson was silent and passive for so long that House actually took a few steps toward the door intending to leave. As soon as he reached the other end of Wilson couch, on which he had left his coat, Wilson finally turned to face him and said, "So what were you and Thirteen doing?"

House turned to face his friend and gave him the one word truth. "Talking."

"About?" Wilson countered, raising his eyebrows as did so, implying that he found House's answer suspicious.

House looked down at the hand on his cane and sighed, then looked back up and said in a resigned exhalation, "You." He used that moment to take another gulp of the liquid courage fizzing in the bottle in his left hand.

"And what kind of conversation about me would result in her kissing you and you smiling like a giddy school girl about it?"

It was House's turn to stare blankly now. He had come over here specifically to talk about this, but he couldn't just come out with it. It was too blunt and it made him way too vulnerable. Wilson's stare bored into House, and House just stared right back. Eventually Wilson looked away which was House's queue to turn the tables.

"Well as long as we're demanding accounts of each other's personal affairs, why don't you tell me why you were there spying on me in the first place? Or better yet, why it is you give a crap if I am seeing her?"

As House had expected, Wilson did not answer, merely took another sip out of his bottle. Frustrated by Wilson's unresponsiveness and his own inability move the conversation where he wanted it to go, House finally just gave up and said, "I don't even know why I came here tonight. It's not like I owe you an explanation for my sex life, or any other aspect of my life for that matter!"

At this Wilson tilted his head toward his lap and began to laugh. It was soft at first and then it became more guttural. House just waited it out, knowing some kind of explanation would inevitably follow. When the last giggle had subsided, House paused for what he considered to be an inordinately lengthy bout of time before asking, "What?!"

Wilson titled his head back up to look House in the eye. He smiled knowingly then, and set his drink down on the coffee table. After a beat or so, he stood and walked toward House, stopping maybe a foot away from him. He then said quietly with a look of surprising arrogance, "You are so full of it."

"Yeah?" House asked, both curious and slightly offended.

"You know exactly why you came over here tonight, so stop playing dumb."

"You're accusing me of being in denial. Wow, your level of hypocrisy is breathtaking."

"Nice deflection," Wilson crooned.

House had to laugh at that. "Yes, I'm the only one deflecting here."

They were both silent for a moment after that. House took another drink of his beer and then set it down on the coffee table next to Wilson's.

"Why did you come here tonight?" Wilson asked once again.

"I don't know. Why were you upset about me and Thirteen?"

Wilson stamped his foot at the question and ran his hand frustratedly through his hair, clawing it out towards House's face as if he wanted to strangle him.

"God," Wilson moaned as he curled the hand into a fist and brought it back down to his side. "Why won't you just tell me?" he pleaded.

House looked at him quite seriously for a moment and then said, "Because I'm not that guy."

"So I have to be?" Wilson asked.

"You don't have to do anything," House observed earnestly.

Wilson threw his hands up half-heartedly then and said, "Fine. If you don't want to talk about this fine." He turned and started walking toward the area of the apartment House knew contained his bedroom. "Feel free to let the door hit you on your way out."

House watched him walk away down a hall, flicking a switch as he went which turned off the lights in the living room where House was still standing. House picked up his coat then, intending to leave for the second time that night. And for the second time that night, he decided against it. Instead he threw the coat back down on the couch, picked up the beer bottle closest to him on the coffee table and chugged the last of its contents. He then slammed it back down and walked purposefully down the hall through which he'd watched Wilson disappear.

House knocked once on Wilson's bedroom door and without waiting for a response he opened it. Wilson had already taken off his work clothes and was now dressed only in a loose plain white T-shirt and his boxers. He was sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands splayed on either side of him gripping his mattress. The room was dark, which House was grateful for as he closed the bedroom door behind him. Being in the dark always made him feel less exposed.

"If you want to talk, talk. If not, get out."

Wilson's command could not have been more monotone, House observed as he moved to stand directly in front of Wilson's seated frame.

"Give me a break, you know I'm not good at this," House said imploringly.

"And what exactly is this?"

House considered Wilson question for a moment and then said, "Stand up."

Wilson raised his eyebrows at the command but eventually did as he was asked. They both stood there, face to face, close enough to smell each other's breath. After a moment, Wilson shrugged his shoulders and made an exaggerated quizzical expression as if silently asking, "What?"

At that moment House deliberately let his cane drop to the floor. As he watched Wilson turn his attention to the abandon length of wood, House reached out his right hand, took one step forward and gently touched Wilson's crotch. He heard Wilson suck in a breath and watched his eyelids flutter closed as he turned his head back to put the two of them face to face again. As Wilson opened his eyes, House watched his pupils dilate, then stroked the warm length of flesh he could feel hardening in his hand.

The moment House began to stroke Wilson let out an incoherent exclamation and grabbed the back of House's head in his right hand, almost as if to steady himself. For a moment the two just stood there, breathing heavily, captivated by the tense pleasure of their own erotic embrace. Then Wilson urged their two heads together. Lips met lips and opened in heat. Tongues jumped and touched, pushing against each other, sucking and stroking, desperate to taste more, more.

Wilson could feel House's two day growth against the edges of his lips and he found the novel prickling sensation quite erotic. Pushing his tongue firmly into House's mouth, he pressed his face against the older man's with ever more vigor.

But eventually they had to come up for air and when their mouths broke apart Wilson moved jerkily to divest himself of his shirt as House sat down on the bed to remove his shoes and socks. Wearing only his boxer now, Wilson turned and bent down, kissing House again as he pushed his friend to recline fully back on the bed. House slowly inched himself backward, trying to get himself completely on the bed while not breaking away from Wilson's kiss. Wilson followed House's lead, climbing onto the bed while keeping their bodies firmly aligned, his knees straddling House's torso.

With their pelvis' rubbing incessantly against each other, Wilson could feel with his cock House's bulge straining to be free of his jeans. Wilson reached down a hand between them and, shaking, unbuttoned and unzipped House's pants, pulling them down around his knees. With their lips still hungrily devouring each other, Wilson cupped his hand over the flesh springing from the juncture of the legs of the man beneath him.

House broke away from their kiss to exclaim, in a hoarse whisper, "GOD!"

Wilson smiled against the older man's cheek and said breathily, "I thought you didn't believe in God."

Then, without waiting for a response, Wilson moved his hand under the band of the thin fabric separating skin from skin and gripped House's dick in a firm squeeze. House felt like he might just cum right then. He did not. Instead he became so belabored for air he was barely able to sputter, between breaths, "I…do…now!"

Wilson smiled at that , removing his hand a second later to pull up on House's T-shirt which was putting up quite a fight. When House's head finally emerged from the other side of the uncooperative shirt, Wilson put his lips against the other man's and gave him one long languishing kiss. Then he shoved the man forcefully back against the mattress and in one strong yank, pulled his jeans and boxers all the way down to his ankles.

Feeling no degree of protest, House kicked at the scrunched up fabric until it fell off him completely. He then looked Wilson, who was hovering above him on all fours, directly in the eye. Wilson smiled at him for the briefest of moments before moving down to envelope his bedmate's cock fully into his mouth.

In response to this, House's hand flew up to grip the edge of the mattress which was now just above his head. His hips jerked spasmodically upward towards the wet sucking heat that made him feel like he was coming out of his skin. He could hear, as if from a distance, the staccato grunts and moans involuntarily issuing from his mouth as Wilson continued to lick in all the right places and suck at all the right times.

The pleasure was agony and even House was surprised, when he finally came, at how violently ecstatic his orgasm was. He nearly blacked out, his vision becoming spotty from lack of both blood and oxygen to his brain. House's closed his eyes as his chest heaved dramatically, fighting to catch his breath in the aftermath of the climax.

Dimly, while still recovering, House felt Wilson move to lie down beside him, dragging one of his fingers slowly up his rolling chest as he did so. House could sense, rather than see, his bedmates gaze upon his face and when he finally opened his eyes to look into his partners', he smiled involuntarily at the unmistakable affection he saw there.

Wilson's hand tucked under House's chin as he moved to bring their mouths into another kiss. As their tongues met once again, House grabbed the back of Wilson's head, threading the other man's thick brown hair between his fingers. Lips continued to open and close, tongues invaded and retreated – the wet heat was intoxicating and it urged them to keep going.

House rolled over onto his side, placing his leg between the other man's thighs and putting pressure on the straining bit of flesh there which was still begging for attention. After a moment House broke away from their kiss to ask, "Do you have anything slippery I could put on my hand?"

Without pause, Wilson reached out his left hand, opened the top drawer of his bedside table and took out a jar of Vaseline. He handed it to House giving him a short opened mouth kiss before allowing him to open the jar and cover his hand in the clear silky lubricant.

House smiled at him then and said, "I would give you head too, but I want to look into your eyes when you cum."

Wilson then watched as if in slow motion as House moved his right hand under the last piece of clothing either of them was wearing. He felt the band which had kept the fabric in place being pulled down over his hips and his erection sprang free. Then a slippery warm pressure engulfed his penis and Wilson had to gasp, his eyes widening, his hand gripping his friend's head for support.

House looked into the other man's face and eyes intently as stroked. He was collecting data, cataloguing where to touch, when to pull, how fast or slow to move. He watched with no small amount of pleasure as little looks of ecstasy flittered across Wilson's face when he touched somewhere really sensitive or applied just the right amount of pressure.

House's stroking eventually became more rhythmic as he felt Wilson's hips begin to buck upward into his hand. From the emphatic panting issuing from Wilson mouth, he could tell his companion was about to cum. He increased his speed just bit and soon enough, he felt a hot liquid burst into his hand. Immediately Wilson began to laugh, a reaction House would come to learn was typical of him right after he climaxed. Removing his hand from softening flesh within it, House proceeded to rub both the Vaseline and the semen still there on the top of Wilson's comforter.

Wilson watched him idyllically for a moment before putting on a face a mock outrage and saying, "That's going to stain my comforter."

Without missing a beat, House gave his friend a fast but possessive open-mouthed kiss before saying, "Shut up."

"Hey, you better be nice to me or I might not be so generous with the sexual favors from now on."

"Yeah, right." House came back instantly with genuine amusement. "My meanness is a total turn on for you, admit it."

"Sure, that's what you'd like to believe. Then you'd have an even better excuse than your leg to be a total bitch to me."

"Ohhh, are you afraid of getting your feelings hurt?" House asked in whimpery tone of concern.

"If I was afraid of that, I never would have become friends with you in first place," Wilson retorted half serious but still smiling.

The pair become silent then, the gravity of their situation beginning to take hold. They avoided looking each other in the eye, as they lay there on top of the comforter. After a few minutes of the heavy silence House pulled a look of furtive embarrassment and asked, while still avoiding his friends gaze, "Um, could you do me a favor?"

From the look on his face, Wilson thought House must be about to ask him or tell him something very serious. Adopting an appropriately reverent tone he responded, "Sure, what is it?"

While still avoiding Wilson's gaze, House brought his hand up to his forehead and began rubbing it anxiously. He then let out a frustrated sigh and said, "Sorry, this is a little hard for me. What I'm about to ask you might be a little awkward, so um, if you're not comfortable with it, I totally understand."

Though mildly distressed by his friend's obvious anxiety, Wilson was more than a little intrigued by the cryptic disclaimer. It sounded as if he was about to get a very naughty proposition. And although he felt a bit apprehensive, the prospect was also quite exciting.

Adopting the same hushed tone as before, Wilson asked, while trying to keep his voice steady as possible, "What is it?"

"Will you-" House began, breaking off to look Wilson nervously in the eye. As soon as their gazes met, House couldn't hold it together any longer. He broke out in a goofy smile and continued in a rush, "go get the Vicoden pills I have in my jacket pocket out in the living room?"

The minute he realized he'd been played, Wilson rolled his eyes heavenward and grabbed the nearest pillow lying next to him on the bed. He hit House forcefully with it once before starting to get up, saying as he did so, "You are such a jerk."

House merely smiled at Wilson before saying in his smug manner, "I know."

Wilson retrieved the bottle of pills from the abandoned coat pocket in the living room and quickly returned to his bedroom. As soon as he walked in, he tossed the little plastic cylinder at the person who had since turned down the bed's comforter and was sitting up underneath the sheets.

House caught it with easy and popped it open, spilling one pill into his hand. While looking down at it he said, "Out of curiosity…" And before finishing the sentence he popped the pill in his mouth then continued. "What did you think I was going to ask you to do?"

Feeling it necessary to give back as good as he had gotten, Wilson put on a face profound mystification and answered serenely "I really have no idea."

"Liar," House said heatedly with a smile.

Wilson then walked over to the bed and slid in underneath the loose bed sheet. The two men were now sitting right next to each other, both still fully naked, their bottom halves covered only by a thin piece of fabric. House twisted his neck around so he could look Wilson head on.

"Was it dirty?" he asked in his exaggerated tone of mockery.

"Maybe," Wilson replied, still pretending to be serenely clueless.

15