House swiped Wilson's unopened beer can as the latter got up from the couch to retrieve a few blankets from one of the boxes stacking the floors.

As he popped it, he thought about their friendship, and how it had taken them so long to give it that push it needed, into something more. How neither of them had ever realized that they were simply dams waiting to be broken; the smallest clue would have done the job. The smallest, serious clue, rather. He thought about Wilson in the hospital, weak and just having escaped death, and scowled to himself. That was what it had taken for them to finally see and understand the truth about each other. The both of them were too damn stubborn for their own goods.

Even after they'd admitted their feelings, they'd basically refused to touch one another. And House...really, really - really wanted to touch Wilson. He couldn't last any more nights without it; he thought of the day they had come home from the hospital - that had been the closest they'd come. He recalled pushing his best friend against the wall, kissing him, one hand on his waist and one on his face - and then later, the two of them locked in a fierce, emotionally-guided embrace. The smell of Wilson's hair and the feel of his body, warm and solid, was comforting and...wonderful. Minutes later, they had settled on the couch, still in each others' arms, and, though they hadn't put in The Notebook, they had necked like one of them had just returned home from a war. It had been a very enjoyable evening, to say the least, though it hadn't ended up very physically satisfying. Emotional satisfaction had been enough that night, and continued to be, but they both knew that they needed more. Soon.

House looked around. Wilson wasn't in the room any longer. Frowning, he glanced into the kitchen - he wasn't there either. Just as he was about to get up and follow him eagerly to the bedroom (for where else could he have gone with an armful of blankets?), the younger man appeared from that direction. House stopped, his hand on the orange armrest, and observed as he leaned slowly against the wall, half hidden in the shadow of the hallway.

"Greg...?" he asked quietly. He seemed to be nervous, by the way he thrust his hands into his pockets, and glanced down at the floor.

House closed his eyes as his heart-rate increased, and he was suddenly unable to swallow properly. There were footsteps, and he felt Wilson standing in front of him. He felt him lean down, and felt hands on his face, tilting his chin upward and smoothing what was left of his hair back. "Greg," he said again, and House opened his eyes.

"Since when are you allowed to call me that?"

"Since you began allowing me to do this sort of thing," Wilson answered softly, caressing his face. "Will you...come sleep with me? I mean - you know, come to bed - " His cheeks became tinged with pink - the same color they had been on the night House had first kissed him.

"I know exactly what you mean. And the answer is yes, to the first one."

He made to stand up, and Wilson stood back to let him. He'd forgotten where he'd put his cane, but it didn't matter; he had an arm to lean on if he needed it. And he decided that he did, simply because it was an excuse to not have any distance between them. Wilson knew this. He wrapped an arm around his waist, bumping their hips. But before they even started down the hall, House turned into him, burying his head into the crook of his neck, and began kissing the skin he was met with repeatedly. He couldn't tell if the color that then flooded the area was due to pleasure or irritation at his stubble. However, Wilson leaned his head to the right, giving him more access, so he guessed it was the former. House unbuttoned the first few buttons of his pale blue dress shirt, his lips moving lower and lower.

"I love you," he murmured. "And it's about damn time we did this..."

Simultaneously, Wilson began to work on House's shirt, but there were no buttons on it, so he tugged at the hem until House got the hint and allowed him to pull it over his head, at which time he resumed his own mission, now with the added twist of Wilson grabbing his bare waist and running his hands up his back.

"We're idiots," a raspy voice said into his ear. "And...woah. You're a lot smoother than I'd imagined."

House gave a chuckle from deep in his throat, while pushing the dress shirt from Wilson's shoulders. He pressed soft kisses across his collarbone, sliding his hands down the pale, bare arms and linking their fingers. "God, you've imagined it...that's a lot of pressure, you know."

"Mm...You haven't? I think people perform better under pressure," Wilson said thickly, tilting his head back.

House swallowed the lump of arousal that nearly choked him, and kissed back up his throat, ending with a peck on the nose. "C'mon, Jimmy boy. We can't stay in here all night. We've got a brand new mattress to break in."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"House - !" Wilson gasped, his legs spread, and not a single stitch of clothing on either of them.

The older man barely heard him; he was far too busy trying to map out every freckle or birthmark on his body - or at least, his upper body. He kissed and nipped and licked at the oncologist's chest, shoulders, face, and neck, his arms encircling him, while they moved against each other like transverse waves. It was as if they were drowning, and could not seem to be able to come up for air.

Wilson, his arms flung out to either side of him, did whatever he could, whenever he could, but House was finally unleashed, and there was not much he could do except groan, sigh occasionally, and keep creating the friction. He actually growled at one point, causing House to curse and attack his mouth.

They did rather a lot of this, never going any further - until, suddenly, and with impressive strength, Wilson rolled them over, taking care not to put pressure on his bad leg, and raised himself up using his elbows.

Breathing heavily, House looked up at him, his eyes bright with unshielded desire; Wilson returned the gaze just as intensely, and put their heads together, their breath mingling. "I need you..." he whispered hoarsely.

"Correction," House managed. "I need you. I want you to do it."

"You're sure?"

"Oh...Wilson," he breathed. "Just...fuck me."

His best friend laughed, though fire might as well have been shooting from his eyes. "You watch way too many pornos." He then spat onto his fingers and touched them to House's sensitive opening, probing and prepping. House pushed on them, inhaling sharply.

At the moment Wilson plunged into him, he couldn't contain himself - he cried out loudly from both pain and an odd sort of pleasure. Wilson stifled the cry with his mouth, ran a hand through his hair, and shushed him soothingly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "We have to get through this now or we'll never be able to do it. Ever."

"You're a genius. Next time, it's your turn." Though the sensation was unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable, the pleasure part of his brain and nerves wanted him to go in deeper. All he knew for sure was that he was immensely enjoying the fact that Wilson was in him; the more that fact registered, the more pleasurable it became, until his muscles were almost fully relaxed. It didn't take long at all for Wilson to pick up on this - he must have been in agony at not being able to move.

"You're not as tense," he commented, kissing underneath House's jaw. "Are we good?"

"Good..." House repeated, not exactly paying attention, and bringing Wilson's head down so their lips could meet. He ran two fingers down his spine, causing the younger man to inhale and kiss him harder. "We're so good..."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was an hour and a half later, and both men were completely exhausted.

Wilson lay, draped over his good side, sort of curled around him, his face pressed into the space between his neck and shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

House was doing the same, lying flat on his back. He ran a hand through Wilson's sweat-dampened hair, his head spinning with numbed disbelief.

After a few minutes had passed, their breathing slowed to a normal pace.

"The game was fun while it lasted..."

Wilson laughed softly. "Meaning you're up for another round?"

"F - hell no."

His best friend sighed against him, and began to trace small circles around and around his middle with his index finger. They were quiet for a moment until Wilson inhaled leizurely and pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. "You're wonderful."

House's eyes closed as he smiled to himself, verbally unresponsive. Only Wilson would say something like that. Well, perhaps Cameron would have, but she was no longer in the picture, and, frankly, he didn't care. He made sure their heads were touching, and trailed his fingertips down the length of Wilson's arm, raising goosebumps. He thought about mocking him, but his heart just wouldn't be in it. Wilson really did consider him to be a wonderful person, and he was grateful for that. In fact, he loved him for that, along with so many other reasons...

The hand that had been tracing circles around his middle, slid over to his damaged right thigh, ghosting over the healed would. House tensed reflexively, but just as soon relaxed when he realized that, of course, Wilson wasn't going to hurt him.

"I want you to understand...you don't need to be - " the younger man paused, seeming unsure of how to phrase his thoughts. He shook his head. "Just - I love you very much, House."

"I know, you sap."

"I'm just telling you."

"I know," House repeated, grinning lazily. "We're in love, yadda, yadda...Mind if I fall asleep?"

Chuckling, Wilson sat up and looked around for the blankets he had brought in after the mattress guys had left. House watched him blink in surprise once he spotted them near the bathroom door; House vaguely recalled grabbing them while flat on his back and flinging them there. Wilson seemed to recall it as well, and shot him an amused glance before getting up to retrieve them, pulling on the boxers he found near them as he did so. House did the same - luckily his own were right next to the mattress. Now that the pleasures of sex had faded, his leg was beginning to ache. Wilson returned, threw the blankets over him, then immediately exited the room. A minute later, he came back with a bottle of Ibuprofen, and a glass of water, and set them on the floor next to House's side of the mattress. That was when House realized he'd been rubbing at the dead thigh muscle. He nodded his thanks.

Wilson walked around to his own side, and slid underneath the covers with him, and right up close. He shivered once while House gulped back three pills, then gently placed a leg over House's good one for what he knew was a desire for body warmth and a desire to be as close as possible. The older man turned over on his good side, pushing Wilson onto his back, and tossed an arm over his middle, his head on his shoulder.

"Oh, okay," Wilson laughed. "Role-reversal here?"

"No," House replied. "At least, I don't see it that way."

Wilson squeezed him. There was no other word to describe the act. "I'll see you in the morning, House."

"Sure. Maybe we'll go furniture shopping."

The last sound House heard before dropping off was the sound of Wilson's low, dreadful groan.