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Wilson had asked House if he wanted to go to the conference with him - he’d done this even before Cuddy had ordered him to her office and politely reminded Wilson to take him if he wanted her to not commit pretty serious violence before noon. Half a day later House solved his case and stopped demanding amputation for the patient AND her service chihuahua, so Cuddy reluctantly told him they were short-staffed that weekend, and they all knew House could be convinced to do some half-assed clinic duty if she told him (gaslighted him into thinking) that actually it was still Friday. So the ‘please get him out of my hair’ changed halfway through the week into a ‘please try to con him into staying if possible, the hospital doesn’t have the budget for extra plane tickets AND House inevitably destroying something in the hotel room when he is bored’.
Wilson didn’t really feel the incentive either way.
He had found House in Coma Gal’s room, watching General Hospital and munching on popcorn.
“Want to come with me to a 3 day medical conference in Ohio?” he asked House after pretending to not notice that he was getting popcorn all over the floor.
House glanced at him, saw no sign of trickery, and thought for only a second before he said: “Nah. Important doctoring to do.”
As of two hours ago, he no longer had a patient. However…
“Season finale coming up?”
“We find out who Marianne’s secret mother is.” House gestured at the T.V., letting loose a few more popcorn kernels. Marianne was the blond in her twenties who tended to date a different latino actor each month, Wilson thought, but knew that House would eventually tell him anyway.
Wilson convinced himself that some actual listening and networking would be beneficial to him, but his enthusiasm lasted exactly two panel discussions. Then he ran into an ex-colleague who excitedly showed him pictures of his kids and by the time Wilson could muster up a half-believable excuse to leave, he was ready to hit the bar.
Some food and drinks later, he locked eyes with a pretty brunette but by the time he had half-heartedly decided to hit on her, her colleagues had joined her, and Wilson felt relief rather than annoyance. He used to like hooking up at these things but now taking someone up his room only reminded him that he’d likely need to share his bed all night, or live with the guilt and awkwardness of kicking her out, and then feeling shit about himself for potentially upsetting her and reckoning with the fact that he was a stereotypical lousy man. Or not kick her out, but then she might stay, and that would make for an uncomfortable night of sharing a bed with a stranger and an even worse morning. He was getting old.
He decided to take a walk and clear his head before heading back to his hotel room and the fresh air did revitalize him a bit, feeling good after being cooped up in the conference room.
He was busy aimlessly looking through a souvenir-shop when he spotted a discounted mug, one side saying “Best Boss” the other, a clear printing error, having “Best Mom”. He picked it up for Cuddy, certain she would appreciate it. By the counter, he spotted some lollipops shaped like a little anthropomorphic cock, with eyes and grin and a little ‘hat’ made out of chocolate or that weird vanilla cream flavor lollipops should never be made out of, and he snorted. He didn’t think too hard about it, took one of the vanilla ones off the shelf when it was his turn. Obviously, this was the best gag-present for House.
It was only later, after he ducked under the covers in his hotel bed, recalling the woman he almost/sort of flirted with, her mouth cherry-red, that he glanced at the Penis Lollipop on his desk and imagined what House would look like with his mouth wrapped around that gift. And then he thinks about semantics, and how House is probably not capable of kneeling down anymore for anybody, because it's bad for his leg. (Not that House would suck a man off, right? But perhaps a transgender woman, pre-operation, House deciding to be a gentleman to one of his hookers or something, or just not giving a fuck in that specifically House way of his when he can be surprisingly nonchalant and easygoing in some ways.)
Yes, House would be the sort of person who'd try sleeping with a man just for 'shits and giggles', or for the chance to win some conversation cookie points in the future with Thirteen, for the pure shock factor alone.
It isn't such a reach to imagine him here, in bed with Wilson, pushing one of his smelly socked feet into his face as he turns around on the bed, because even a House who'd experiment with man wouldn't miss an opportunity to be an asshole while trying to open Wilson's belt. Or a random man's belt. He'd be laying down because of the bed, not taking his pants off either, not wanting anyone to see his scar. It would not make a difference for Wilson, of course, but he knew House hated having it on display with strangers and friends alike. That's something that had changed after the surgery too. House used to walk around half naked often, and back when he was still running and working out, Wilson had seen his legs often enough that he could now easily recall how toned they’d been. But imagining House pre-injury, at the height of his mobility, felt a bit like betrayal.
House would only go 'wow, saucy, I hope I was slutty enough', if he ever found out that Wilson fantasized about him - not that this was a fantasy, it was a thought experiment, or just a random jumble of thoughts before falling asleep. (His hand was on his dick only accidentally.) But having him feature as his non-disabled self? It felt rotten, treacherous. Except he felt a bit excited to sleep, and now that he'd started thinking about House in that position, he might as well finish. After all, this is fine, it's not a fantasy about House who is a man, it's just erotic thoughts about House, who is a close friend, and that's what is so exciting about it, the taboo of it. It's not something that nice straight men are supposed to do. Wilson is straight, but people sometimes think about their friends, right? Means nothing. Nothing at all.
Except it might, because he gets hard so much quicker than usual, with his eyes closed, imagining House's mouth on him. He sees him with those damn lollipops all the time, it's not a very hard image to conjure.
It’s troubling, because he gets super hard and comes super quickly, and this repeats in the morning, and then he almost throws out the thing, but then he thinks he’s over thinking it, and he really is, and the only way to prove to himself it’s not a big deal is to gift it to House after all. And also, being gay is totally fine now, it's not the 80’s anymore, HIV is treatable, and whatever, bisexual people also exist. And sure, he doesn’t think any less of Thirteen for not being heterosexual, just because she goes both ways, but then Wilson has always felt like it's easier for her because she’s a woman.
The lollipop is burning a hole into his bag and brain and he thinks worst case scenario I’ll get rid of it at the airport, but then he ends up doubling down, buying a card to go with it, saying ‘made me think of you, Greg’ (because he is a dick too, like, it makes sense) and only realizes later on that it should have said “REMINDED me of you”, as he steps out of arrivals and someone is playing their song on the piano.
Wilson grins, his ‘House is up to no good but mostly harmless fun things’ sense tingling. That cannot be a coincidence. Best check it out, and of course it’s House who took a taxi to pick him up, knowing full well Wilson preferred to bring his own car to the nearby overnight parking lot.
“How was the snoozefest? Did you end up banging someone? Where did you leave the 4th Mrs Wilson?” House asks, peering behind Wilson’s baggage as if she was likely to be hiding there.
“Funny, ha, ha,” Wilson deadpans, but cheers himself up when he spots someone giving House a murderous look as they pass them, “How many times did you repeat that song until I came to find you?”
House grins back at him. “Only about seven.”
On the way home, House tells Wilson that he's ordered pizza to his place and they should hurry so they can pay the delivery guy, ignoring Wilson's half-hearted grumbles about going to his own house and unpacking and maybe having a shower. He knows they both just want to hang out and watch T.V., so he takes them to House's place, handsomely tips the very peeved delivery guy, and listens to House's adventures of pissing people off at the airport.
“Still, nobody even attempted to take a duty free whiskey bottle to the furnishings, so you’re still my number one guy.”
Wilson is overcome by a feeling of ah I worried over nothing, he is still my friend first and foremost, this weekend of lusting after him was a weird fluke, I’ll just give him the present, and says: “I missed you too, House.”
House chuckles and reaches for the remote, and Wilson suddenly panics, if he waits it will just get weirder, so he blurts out: “I got you something.”
House loves unexpected presents as they are basically free instantaneous puzzles, and since Wilson made no effort to wrap the Popsicle Penis up he starts with the card. He’s changed his mind for the twentieth time about it, but it’s already too late, so he tries to affect the best sort of unbothered straight friend gag gift vibe he possibly can. He doesn’t know how believable it turns out because he’s busy avoiding looking at House’s face.
“Gee, thanks.” House snorts, then says in a terrible Indiana accent: “I do like a sucker, that’s why I’m friends with you.” Wilson’s laugh barely sounds forced at all.
They settle next to each other on the couch, and House immediately starts unwrapping… or maybe just fucking with the plastic cover, it takes so long and it’s so loud.
“You shouldn’t have your dessert before your main meal,” Wilson says.
“But Mu-um, I’m an adult and I can do what I like!” House says.
“Whatever. Don’t choke on it.”
House finally pops the thing into his mouth. Wilson is busy with pizza and is absolutely not watching him in the T.V.’s reflecting screen.
“Not possible,” House brags, slurping loudly. “I don’t have a gag reflex.” And he looks at the TV too, intensely enough that Wilson feels caught. The air between them feels thinner suddenly.
Wilson feels the tips of his ears warm up, and he sneaks a glance at House’s actual face, which is just SCREAMING at him to call his bullshit. So he does. Even though the lollipop is small enough that his gag reflex wouldn’t need to come into play unless he was also inserting most of the stick.
House slurps again.
“Wanna bet?”
“Sure, I’ll bet 10 dollars —”
House goes: “Boooring!”
Wilson takes two seconds to think it over and decides he might as well play along. “Well, what should be your punishment, when I’m right, and you are actually a big fat liar with a matching gag reflex?”
House is silent for a while, and then he says: “Okay, if I choke on it, that clearly means I’m out of practice, and that means I have to practice some more.” There is a beat of silence where Wilson considers that he’s completely lost his mind to be having this conversation at all. Or maybe he’s still in the hotel room, dreaming. “On the real thing.”
Silence. Wilson wants to call time out on this game of gay chicken, but can’t find the words for it.
“If not,“ House continues. “Well, then your dick doesn’t get wet, and we’ll test your gag reflex.”
Wilson has no idea if that means him also having to try to fellate the dick dessert, or an actual blowjob, but no amount of staring into House’s eyes intently is breaking House’s cocky expression. Neither of them are laughing, but House’s eyebrows are egging him on. It has to be a joke. But some foolish part of Wilson says, what of it, like - what's the worst that can happen, their friendship survived losing Amber. Worst case scenario, House will chicken out before, and no, wait, worse is it being awkward, but they have an equal amount to lose here, and Wilson spent too long agonising about that stupid present to back down at this point. (Maybe he can admit, just to himself, that he was hoping for something like this to happen.)
He can’t tell if House has an erection or not. His own semi isn’t noticeable in his slacks but he is sure House can read him by his dilated pupils and his excitement-blush and stuff.
“Okay,” Wilson says, and they both breathe out. “You’ve done this kind of thing before?”
“Sure,” House says. “Ages ago.”
“You never told me.”
House shrugs. “Never came up.”
It's not quite true, but Wilson forgets to argue about it, because he just watches, deer-in-headlights, how House turns his body towards him and eyes the lollipop seriously.
“For future reference, I actually prefer strawberry,” House says and he starts sucking on the tip in such a provocative obscene way that Wilson’s heart actually skips a beat. His blood is confused, trying to gather in his face and groin at the same time.
“Do not dare bite any of it off, no cheating!” he says emphatically to distract himself, like this is a real bet that could be won by cheating. It was not a well-calculated move because House gets back into the insane eye contact which threatens to burn out Wilson’s insides. House doesn’t actually bite the lollipop, but does some insane things with his tongue, shows off a bit, then once he very obviously clocks that Wilson is white-knuckling the sofa like his life depends on it (he could let go once House notices but he has an irrational fear of gravity no longer working and him falling off the couch, onto his face, or right into House’s lap), House looks back up at him and very deliberately gags.
“Whoops,” House says. Gives a bit of a fake cough that’s more just him clearing his throat. Is this really happening? Wilson thinks, slightly hysterical, frozen in place, staring at House who takes a sip of his beer and then puts the sticky lollipop on the pizza box and pushes himself off the sofa… onto the ground, pushing away the coffee table with his back as he turns toward Wilson.
“Wait! Your leg,” Wilson protests, mouth dry, voice pathetic.
“I bet I can make you come before my leg starts to hurt,” House snaps, pulling at Wilson’s button and zipper, angry and determined and Wilson doubts that, but fuck it. Fuck it, might as well, right? He can’t think of any reason this might be a bad idea, but maybe that’s because he can’t think at all, fingers finally leaving the cushions and hurrying to push his pants and underwear down in one go.
The sight of House’s face between his legs is indescribable, his mouth on his dick even more so. House isn’t fucking around, he goes in already intensely sucking at him, and he looks up at Wilson and takes him in so deep he chokes, gags on his cock too but it hardly matters. Wilson puts his left hand into House’s thinning hair, pulling him off enough to make sure he’s fine, pushing the other hand to his jaw as House takes him back inside, stroking over his stubble because he always wanted to check if it feels different from the hair on his head, and it does, his hair is silkier, and as much as House is doing his best impression of a fantastic whore, all Wilson can think about is I want to kiss him after this if he doesn’t do some sort of stupid ‘oh its opposite Sunday it didn’t count’, and what if House asks for his turn, what if Wilson needs to get on his knees too?
That fantasy is too much for him, and with a few grunts he comes into House’s hot mouth, completely forgetting to warn him and not particularly minding it. What he immediately does is get on the carpet too and push at House’s shoulder so he can straighten out the leg. Then he kisses him finally, deeply, feeling like oh shit, this was what I was missing from my life, and House mutters something about letting him rub against him, how he really doesn’t need much, but Wilson is not looking for the easiest fix here, he wants the most and everything and he bullies House back on the couch.
“No! My turn,” he tells House between kisses. Satisfaction coils hot in his belly at House’s breathless: “Okay, wow.”
Wilson attempts to make it the best blowjob of his goddamn life (so far, because he does hope they will be doing this again), and he gets his hands under House’s clothes to touch his nipples and stomach and like. Nice. Not the time to think too hard about a label, but defo not straight anymore. And House sort of comes when his fingers wander a bit lower, sliding under his balls, and isn’t that a nice encouragement for the immediate future? Why would House say no to some near immediate anal simulation? Wilson would like to schedule that in, right after they get up from lying in a heap on the couch. Once he figures out how to break the silence, of course. And then he remembers that this is House, and he speaks his language, which mostly is honesty with a little bit of bragging.
“I’m actually kind of hungry, but what do you think about me fucking you after we ate a bit? In like, your bed?”
“Fuck yeah,” House agrees. “I’ll take a quick bath, see you in bed. Bring the pizza.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Wilson shouts after him.
He isn't too bothered though, finishing the slice he was eating quickly and going to House’s bedroom to change his sheets, while he heats the rest of the pizza back up. He comes back to the bedroom with the warmed up pizza right as House limps out of his bathroom damp and with sparkling eyes. They sit and munch, House telling him about the season finale of General Hospital, Wilson staring at him, trying to get the feeling of whiplash at having his best friend do regular best friend things next to him while he’s naked and House notices and reads him clearly if his ridiculous attempt at fellating the empty beer bottle is anything to go by. But maybe he’s just a menace as usual, and this will be Wilson’s life now. House winks at him, and Wilson realizes he’s well on his way to another hard on.
The sex is hot - House opens for him beautifully, no doubt having spent his quick bath mostly with prepping himself, and they fit together with Wilson almost effortlessly, and talking to House while fucking into him feels better than simply talking to him, but it also feels better than fucking anyone else, and House is ribbing him about his marriages again which is sort of stupid when he’s balls deep in a person, but it makes Wilson laugh.
“Can I expect a proposal by the morning?” House repeats again as if it’s a real question and not just banter. “Are you spending the night?”
“Yes,” Wilson pants, licking at his shoulder. “I wanna do some inappropriate things to you in the morning too.”
House moans in response, lost in pleasure.
Afterwards, there is a bit of needling needed from Wilson to get him to come brush his teeth with him, threatening kisses and cheerfully ignoring House grumbling about his excited puppy energy after orgasming.
“Well usually I just spend half the night cataloging and thinking if she had fun, what I did well, what not, or I just straight up fall asleep.” Saying it out loud like this, and seeing House’s face, he comes to a solid conclusion: “House, I think I might not be straight.”
House looks at him long and fond, and Wilson can translate his expression easily. It’s ‘I love you’. It’s ‘ah you are still insane, you didn't lose that just because we slept together, nice’.
Later, they are lying in bed, House’s head on Wilson’s chest, Wilson stroking his arm, he thinks about what his reply to that confession should be. Because of course he loves House too.
“Actually, I think I want to be proposed to, this time.”
And House just says, “Sleep, loverboy.” But Wilson can hear the smile in his voice.