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House’s grip tightened around the neck of his wooden cane. Handle weathered from near constant usage, the wood softens between his fingers. It's not that he doesn't want to be here, standing like a pauper, begging for entry to his best friend’s apartment at ten in the evening. It's the fact that he’d rather cut past the (unfortunately deserved) apology, the thing he’s been trying, and failing, not to think about for the better part of a week.
Wilson never got mad. Not mad enough to stay away for as long as he has, at least. Usually it was a few days of silence, the occasional cold shoulder and scathing remark. Easily manageable anger that blew over in a matter of hours. Not this. Never this.
What he’d done was unimportant at this point. It was more a laundry list rather than a single incident, something which only furthers to make House sigh, shifting awkwardly under the thought of what comes next. Something out of his skillset.
One knock, two, and three.
Shuffling from inside. The quiet voices of the television hushing almost conspiratorially. House hears gentle padding towards the door then silence.
Blue eye flicks towards the peephole, staring eye to eye with the other man who undoubtedly stands behind the door.
Predictable.
Leaning his face against the cold door, House pounds loudly. Loud enough, he hopes, to startle the man behind it. “I bought booze and chocolate. Let me in.”
A muffled voice answers. “House, I’m really not in the mood.”
“I’m not like other guys, I promise I won’t try and feel you up.” House whines, his voice whining and his head tipping back in exasperation. He kicks the door with his cane, his patience wearing thin. “Just open the damn door.”
It finally does, and he doesn’t wait for an invitation. His sneakers stroll past Wilson easily, and he beelines for the couch. “Here I thought I was the stubborn one.”
Wilson sighs, his hands perched on his hips as he chews on his bottom lip. He makes no attempt to turn around and see the way the other man has settled in, taking a few moments to stare at his neighbors door before shutting his own and relenting. “Look-”
“Be quiet. I came to say I’m sorry.”
“You think a simple ‘I'm sorry’ is going to fix this?” Wilson scoffs, almost in disbelief, even though this kind of thing happens too often to be a mistake. “House-”
“Of course not.” He cuts him off. “Hence the booze and chocolate.”
“You’re a real ass.” Wilson snaps, moving towards the kitchen to finish cleaning the plate he barely ate off of.
Yeah, yeah. House holds up the bottle of cheap wine and Valentine's day reduced chocolate that’d been hanging around in the liquor store for the past four months. “Truce?”
***
“This chocolate is pretty good.” Wilson says, a crumb flying out of his mouth as he chews thoughtfully on the sweetness. It sits slightly bitter on his tongue, yet tinged with an almost fiery undertone.
“Wouldn’t know. Someone’s been hogging the entire bar.” House scoffs, his arms crossed over his chest.
Wilson rolls his eyes, tossing the remaining half eaten chocolate bar his way, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. He hadn’t bothered to change after work, something not exclusive to tonight. Fighting with House is like getting sucked into a tornado. Everytime, without fail it consumes him; sucking him further and further in until he’d eventually turn around and see his entire life has been wiped away. Too focused on the path of destruction in front of his eyes.
The pretty pink foil crinkles as House peels more of it back, his eyes focused on the television and whatever crap tv show is playing. Wilson hadn’t paid attention, using it more as background noise to silence the thoughts and nagging guilt that followed him around as opposed to the normal six foot shadow he has. “So, how was your week?”
“Shut up.” House smirks, holding out his empty glass. “Pass me the wine.”
With the first bar gone, Wilson grabs the second one and unwraps it, snapping off a few more pieces. “I’ve never seen this brand before.”
House shrugs, downing his wine and leaning back with his hands behind his head. They sit like this for a while; House drinking the wine down and Wilson nibbling on the chocolate. The conversation is slow, comfortable, and mostly quiet. Besides the odd comment on the show, or a quip about current events at the hospital, they sit in the comfort of each other.
The episode ends. House leans forward, grabbing the remote. “Another one?” He eyes the menu, moving the cursor towards the next episode in the series. “Wilson?”
He fidgets, his arms laying awkwardly along his waist, crossed as if he’s fighting back a stomach ache. “Huh?”
House slowly rakes his eyes over him, trying to diagnose him from half a couch away. He says nothing, just waits for further explanation.
“I’m fine, it's nothing.” Wilson stammers, clearing his throat.
“Clearly.” House scoffs.
“I feel weird.” Wilson murmurs, his arms firmly unmoving.
House’s eyebrow arches. “Weird how?”
“My heart’s racing… I don’t know. I’m fine.”
House reaches forward, gently grabbing Wilson’s arm.
“Hey don’t!” Wilson immediately tugs his arm back, looping his fingers through the belt loops on his pants. “What are you doing?”
House scoffs, eyes narrowing at the strange behavior from Wilson. He’s never been so closed off, so resistive. “Taking your pulse…? why are you acting so weird just let me-”
“I’m fine.”
“Will you shut up?” House tugs, managing to pull Wilson’s arm away, revealing the lump in his crotch.
“A… aphrodisiac chocolate?” “Why the hell did you buy aphrodisiac chocolate?”
“I didn't know!” House scoffs, watching and Wilson stands abruptly, frantically reading the wrapper. “It was reduced at the liquor store!”
“You are insane. You always try to pull some shit and I’m sick of it!” He yells, his voice wavering as he throws the bar down onto the table.
“I ate it too, you moron! I wasn’t trying to fuck you.” Freudian slip? House scoffs, silently cursing his wine drunk tongue. “I wasn’t trying to fuck with you.” He corrects, a smirk still plastered on his face.
“You need to go.”
“What? I’m not leaving.” House scoffs. “We’re both adults here.”
“Adults!” Wilson laughs, making no attempt to hide the mass in his pants. “House I feel like I’m going to explode!”
“Me too.” House’s eyes latch onto his crotch, his own reacting. “Come here.”
Wilson quickly settles on House’s lap, his mind swirling and chest heaving. Hands on either side of House’s face he slowly brings himself to touch his cheek, fingers brushing over the rough stubble. He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about this, kissing his best friend. Fuck it. His lips plant firmly against House’s, the warmth blooming like sunlight. For a few seconds the two sit unmoving, almost testing the position, before House responds, his lips gently moving against Wilson's.
A gentle moan escapes Wilson as he presses against him further. Callous hands find his hips, cane clattering to the floor. Wilson pulls away, allowing the other man to take a few shuttering breaths and look up at him from behind hooded eyes. House’s mouth, that stupid, incredible mouth opens, undoubtedly to throw out some throwaway sarcastic quip, but is instead met with Wilson’s tongue.
Now it’s House’s turn to groan, and he does, almost as if on cue. His hips buck forward, just once, an unconscious effort. Wilson matches his effort, grinding his hips hard against House’s. They feel each other’s lengths between fabric, both men gasping at the feeling. Wilson shifts, earning him a wince. “Careful of the leg.”
Wilson sits up, his cheeks red. “Sorry.”
“Shut up.” House gasps, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Wilson’s pants. Not exactly how he pictured the night going, but he isn’t complaining. He reaches his underwear line and explores further, his fingers only halting as he feels the stubble that sits just above his cock. “Well, aren’t you prepared?” He grips his shaft, gently stroking it a few times.
Wilson groans, his face finding the crook of House’s neck. His body shakes with sensitivity from the aphrodisiac, whimpering gentle pleas as he kisses the base of his neck. “Please, House-”
“Hmm?” He hums, his thumb sliding across his tip.
Wilson gasps, melting further into him. House all but rolls his eyes at how pathetic his friend is, grabbing the hand that's clutched against his shirt and gently sliding it into his own pants. It takes a few seconds for his pleasure-ridden brain to catch up, but Wilson quickly retracts his hand, instead opting to undo the button of House’s jeans.
“I didn’t say you could look.” House muses, grabbing him tighter and yanking him up.
Wilson gasps, his hands quickly scrambling to undo his own tie. It falls from his neck and instead finds its way to his eyes. “Tie it then.”
House smirks, his hand leaving the warmth of his crotch and instead tying the blindfold over Wilson’s eyes. He watches as the other man lays down on the couch, blindly feeling around House’s lap for his cock.
Pulling it out and stroking it a few times, House helps guide it into Wilson’s mouth. The two men groan as they connect. The taste bursts through Wilson’s mouth as the pleasure grows in House’s groin. He settles back and navigates Wilson to lay on his side, his hand finding his shaft once more.
He strokes as the other man sucks, moving faster as the whimpers vibrate against his cock. The two stay like this, backs arching, silent curses leaving their throats, pleasure growing, until House feels it first.
“Alright, off.” House pats Wilson’s but. He doesn’t stop, instead groaning some form of an argument. “Get off me, Wilson.” He gasps. “Now.”
Wilson finally relents, sitting up, and pulling up the blindfold. Any question as to why falls on silent lips as he sees the dribbling mess falling from House’s tip. The sight alone is enough to make him groan, and he thrusts into House’s hand, which picks up speed. It only takes a few seconds before he too, bursts. The two collapse on the couch, sinking into the cushions.
Wilson pants. “Next time, no chocolate.”
House plucks the box of tissues from the coffee table. “Way ahead of you.”