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During Chase’s original run as a fellow, House had kissed him about once week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Often enough to keep him happy but still hungry for it. It didn’t hurt that he was so pretty. And such a slut. Hair just long enough for House to wrap his hand around and pull.
Usually, the kissing came after Chase got the diagnosis right or did an especially impressive job surgically repairing damage or breaking Cuddy’s rules. House would corner Chase in the conference room or sometimes shove him into an exam room in the clinic and then just stare at him until Chase lost his nerve and couldn’t stammer out enough words to ask what was wrong.
When his eyes were just about to cloud over with tears at the prospect of disappointing his new impossible-to-please father figure, House swept in and pressed kisses up and down Chase’s face and neck, sometimes bending low enough to nibble at his collarbone, often leaving a not-so-subtle hickey somewhere on his skin.
And every single time, without fail, Chase let out a very unattractive, very girly squeal of surprise. Like it was a real shock, like he couldn’t believe it.
Despite that, when House did get to his mouth, Chase was always ready. Lips parted, eyes shut, arms outstretched.
After a bit, House would pat Chase on the shoulder patronizingly and give him “good boy” or “good work” as a treat. Chase’s knees would go weak in a way that went straight to House’s head. Maybe that’s the real reason he kissed Chase the most often.
House wasn’t hurt when Chase started to get more kissing on the side from Cameron. If anything, it was a relief. The man was insatiable. He hoped Foreman would join in. For morale.
And now, post Cameron, shorn like a femme tondue, Houses kisses Chase more sparingly. Not as punishment per se. House actually likes the haircut and the newfound confidence, but Foreman is already so sensitive to not being the favorite, not being in charge. Anyway, it’s still often enough to keep Chase from moping. A healthy bi-weekly kissing in House’s office chair to supplement his slutting around after work hours. That’s bi-weekly as in twice a week, every two weeks. It works.
Cameron was a surprise. She’d actually kissed him. As a ploy no less. In a way, it was sweet to see how far she had come, but it was also pretty annoying. Like most things she did.
House had never intended to kiss her, honestly. He didn’t want to encourage her crush on him. Cameron’s devotion was slightly disturbing. Flattering, undeniably more so than Chase’s, since Cameron loved unconditionally the person House could be. Although that was the rub, wasn’t it? She didn’t even really like him. Just his leg. His pain.
He had thought about kissing her after dinner that night they went out, though. But he didn’t want to overdo it. The corsage was already so painfully earnest that to this day Wilson just has to think about it hard enough to make House’s neck burn. Cameron would never forget it. If House had kissed her too, he’d have trapped her in his orbit forever. Which was tempting for good while. Until it wasn’t.
After she started really dating Chase, it seemed like a safer bet, and House came pretty close a few times. It would only be fair after all. He hadn’t stopped kissing Chase when they got together. He might have even given him a few extra to see if Cameron would say anything. She never had.
Looking back, even with the sting of betrayal that accompanied the needle prick, House has to respect it. She was more like him than she ever realized.
Foreman is a special case. Realistically, he has earned many kisses with his excellent performance. More than Chase probably with his cowardly, shifting loyalty. But Foreman doesn’t need flattery and reassurance like Chase does. Or he doesn’t like needing it. He does need it, though, which is why House simply has to give him a kiss every now and then. To keep him steady. It’s an art form really, balancing when Foreman is most vulnerable to self-doubt and least likely to file an HR complaint.
That’s why House generally keeps it to no more than once a year, usually right after they’ve all pissed Cuddy off like never before so any theoretical complaint would get buried. Not that he ever actually submitted one, House is just that good.
For all his distant glaring and jumpiness in the weeks after, Foreman always kisses back. And he’s never the one to pull away, even if he’s panting for air when House inevitably does. He always looks so inscrutable afterwards. Beyond even his everyday poker face, like House has managed to calm whatever storm was raging under the surface. But the peace doesn’t last, and eventually he shoves House’s caressing hands off his shoulders and goes home to sulk for at least 48 hours—no matter the time of day or night or treatment still needing to be done.
Thirteen had laughed, and House deflated. Is there truly no chink in her detached cool girl bitchy persona apart from Huntington’s? He’d asked himself. House can only make so many jokes about that before he’s really only depressing himself, but then the laugh had continued. And House realized she was nervous. And then he realized something else: Thirteen never laughed. He must have really caught her off guard.
He smiled and stole closer, and the laugh cut out. House pressed a second perfunctory kiss to her sealed lips. She stared at him blankly. He lifted his cane up to her cheek, tapping once lightly before striding off.
He hadn’t done it again. Too risky attempting the same trick twice in front of a tough audience like Thirteen. She might punch him next time.
House had almost kissed Kutner on that last night of their last case. Taub’s stolen idea was a good one. Kutner deserved some acknowledgement, but House is not in the habit of rewarding fellows who lie to him. Not that Kutner had really given him the chance to—he’d all but run out of the locker room. Something House thought back to more often than he cared to admit.
House had kissed Kutner before that at least. At Christmas after seeing how excited he’d been to give House a gift for Secret Santa, he hadn’t been able to resist. It was easy enough to arrange. Some well-placed mistletoe in the midst of his other obnoxious decorations and overly flirtatious winking. Kutner had been game and very pleased when House told him he’d done well so far.
House thought at first their dynamic would develop to be more or less like his and Chase’s. Kutner liked a bit of praise, relished attention and achievement. He’d mentally scheduled a quick peck every third week or so. Definitely every other patient when Kutner got one of his radical treatment ideas.
While he did keep having good ideas, the timing just wasn’t right. House wondered actually if Kutner was avoiding him. They all liked to pretend like he was just a sweet little idiot, but he would never have been here if it were actually true.
If it was deliberate, he kept his distance very subtly, pitching his ideas from across the room or over the phone only when House was about to kiss him again.
This suggests House has a tell no one else has ever picked up on, which seems unlikely, but there were never any good explanations when it came to Kutner. There just hadn’t been enough time.
With Taub, it was a whole production. He’s prickly and nervous for one, but it’s mostly because of the height difference. It’s not easy for House to get down that low on short notice, so it was a tricky one to plan. He considered buying a step stool.
In the first year or so, when House was sitting at the conference table, he would occasionally tug Taub over by his lab coat, but the expression of blind terror on his face was always thrilling enough that House left it there.
Right before the first kiss, House wondered what exactly Taub was even afraid of when he pulled him closer. Did he think House was going to hit him? Or had his fellows been gossiping? House tapped his cane on the floor as he thought, and Taub looked up from the patient file nervously. He had arrived a few minutes too early, and they were all alone.
It was overdue really. House was curious to see how Taub would react. Obviously, he was a slut, so it was hard to imagine he’d be too upset. Just flustered. It was always fun to get under the little man’s skin.
House ordered Taub to get up and come look at something. He’d complied unenthusiastically but bent over the file in front of House obediently even though they both knew there could not possibly be something different in House’s copy.
When he’d turned back—no doubt to complain about wasting his precious time before the differential had even begun—House had cupped a hand at the base of his head and pulled him into a sweet, slow kiss.
Just a lazy brush of lips, like saying good morning to someone you’d spent the night with, and then, House pulled away to observe.
Taub was shocked. Totally non-plussed. Mouth open, eyebrows arched. Looking lost in a way House really hadn’t expected but welcomed.
Maybe he had been about to ask what the hell just happened, but then Foreman had walked in. Taub leapt away from House and schooled his expression back to neutrality. But he didn’t manage a convincing greeting. He couldn’t say anything even as Foreman had glanced suspiciously between them. House distracted Foreman by throwing a file folder at his knees.
The second time House kissed Taub was just before his wedding. Taub had been fretting over not being included in the ceremony. He was honestly hurt. It was too cute. House had beckoned him closer and closer and then dragged him almost into his lap.
Dominika’s surprised laugh tinkled below him and never one to disappoint an audience, House deepened the kiss. He was both surprised and not when Taub let him. Poor lonely little Taub, House thought. Even with Rachel and Ruby both putting out, he’s so sad.
Abruptly, Taub had jerked away from him. Like he could hear what House was thinking.
“I’m sure we can find something for you to do,” House promised.
Taub had nodded and licked his lips. House followed the path of his tongue keenly.
And then, Taub blushed. It was thrilling to learn there were new limits to be found. House had thought he’d pushed Taub to the brink already, but he’d never seen that before. The pink spreading so rapidly down his neck that House wanted to rip open his shirt and see how low it went. But before he could move an inch, Taub scampered off, tail between his legs.
House had filed the reaction away. Some other time maybe.
Masters reeled away in horror the only time he tried. House smacked his lips wetly to her forehead instead.
She was too righteously aghast to notice the jealousy that bloomed on every other face in the office.
House kisses Wilson as often as the man will tolerate.
It’s a bit like with Chase but also nothing like that at all. Both can be reliably made to blush and stammer and look up at House with big, hopeful eyes. But Wilson is all around less amenable. More of a challenge. He can’t work out what the kissing means—as if it’s some complex mystery why House would want to kiss him—and so it worries him.
Consequently, the kissing has to be a surprise and an event. A nice cap to a long, busy week or a blip in the middle of a boring one so Wilson will have adequate time to recover in private. A drunk Wilson is more open to kissing than a sober Wilson, but a hungover Wilson is generally so distressingly puzzled over the whole thing the guilt isn’t worth it.
Generally, it’s important to give Wilson something else to complain about afterwards to keep him satisfied. If the kissing is just a distraction and not real, Wilson is happy.
And so, House will creep up behind him in the halls and kiss him on the ear, while sliding a hand into his back pocket to snatch his prescription pad. Or his wallet.
He’ll burst into the room, having dragged himself bum leg and all over the balcony, and twist Wilson’s head up into a kiss and swipe his planner for good measure.
When Wilson had been staying on his couch, House would collapse on top of him, ignoring hissed protests, and kiss and kiss and kiss. He trapped him in the bathroom during his extensive morning routine to kiss him between blow drying and hair curling or whatever else Wilson did in there. When Wilson cooked in the kitchen, House watched carefully, waiting until his hands were maximumly occupied and unable to fend off groping hands and nipping teeth. After all, a moocher has to earn his keep.
Under the same principle, when House stayed with Wilson, he’d hook his cane around an ankle and send the man sprawling beside him onto the couch most nights. Dr. James Wilson reacts positively to many and most stimuli—eternal pushover that he is—but he responds especially well to being manhandled, House finds. Not surprising but merits further investigation. Besides, it’s not like Wilson was going to turn him down after all the painful, honest soul-searching and life-bettering he’d done in the psych ward.
They rarely went further than kissing. Sometimes there was some…rubbing. Just some sweet, sweet friction, but House knew exactly how far to push without breaking. He thought often and excitedly about crossing the line, but Wilson was prone to slipping away, red-faced into the shower alone just as things started to get interesting—the coward.
They had been getting closer and closer lately, though. With the questions of both Cuddy and Sam 2.0 asked and answered, it’s really only a matter of time.