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Obsession - For Doctors
by Michelle Christian
It was a beautiful day in Princeton. Not least of which because Wilson had let himself be bullied into making breakfast for House. House considered this to be the perfect kind of morning.
"Everyone's obsessed with something."
Building on perfection involved, of course, annoying the crap out of Wilson.
"That's ridiculous," Wilson said, not looking up from his newspaper.
"Like you and your hair," House went on as if Wilson hadn't spoken.
Wilson wasn't playing right this morning. There wasn't even a satisfyingly heavy sigh, just a sing-song response from behind the paper. "I am not obsessed with my hair."
"Of course you are. No sane, supposedly straight man spends that much time on his hair."
"It's called good grooming, not obsession," Wilson said, still from behind the paper, but House noticed his fingers were holding it a little tighter. Score. "You might try experimenting with it sometime."
House sniffed virtuously. "I will not bow down to peer pressure."
Finally, one corner of the paper bent down to reveal an eye and a raised eyebrow (though House knew the other one was also raised, since Wilson couldn't do one at a time). "I hate to be the one to break it to you, Don Johnson, but the 80s are dead."
"Yeah, but they'll be back again any minute, and then I'll be cutting edge. And don't even try to tell me that you don't have some pastel t-shirts and linen jackets packed away."
The only response he got was Wilson folding up the paper and going to the counter for more coffee. Which, of course, meant House had won.
"My point is..."
"You have a point?" Wilson asked in mock surprise as he turned with his travel mug, obviously preparing to leave.
"...that everyone has something they are obsessed with. Something that won't let them go."
Wilson gave him an odd look which House chose not to interpret. "I understand the phenomenon," he said and left.
If House had a warm feeling for the rest of the morning, he decided it was because of a particularly good batch of Vicodin. He would have sworn to it under torture.
***
They walked into Princeton-Plainsboro late enough to earn an annoyed glare from Cuddy, but not so late that she actually felt like interrupting her conversation with the nurse in the clinic to come over and lecture them. This day just kept getting better.
"You know what your problem is?" Wilson asked when they were alone on the elevator, as if House wanted to hear.
"You mean aside from you always trying to tell me what my problem is?"
Wilson, as usual, ignored him. "Your obsession is with solving the puzzles. All the puzzles."
"Puzzles are more fun than people," House said, which seemed so obvious, he was surprised Wilson would even mention it.
"Yes, but your puzzles are people." Wilson had that earnest look he always got whenever he was trying to make House see the good of being more human. It usually made House want to smack him in the face with a whiffle bat.
"The intestines are always the hardest to figure out. No corners." House escaped from the elevator and headed to office. His Gameboy was calling his name.
***
"What I don't get is why obsession is such a bad thing," House said, carrying his tray to their usual table at lunchtime. The day had continued to be good, since his minions had been unable to find anything interesting and the latest issue of Maxim had come in. Hel-lo, Eva Longoria.
"Yes, because it's normally such a healthy emotion." Sarcasm from Wilson was almost unbearably sexy, House had found. Probably why he liked the self-abuse of torturing him all day.
"Really, where would the world be without a little obsession," House continued. "We'd never have had penicillin, the Pythagorean Theorem, the electric light bulb, or Red Sox fans without it."
"Or witch hunts or the Taleban," Wilson countered. He was having a salad; House knew he'd just had his regularly scheduled physical and feeling virtuous/guilty after it. House also knew he would be stealing half of House's fries over the course of lunch.
"That's fanaticism not obsession."
"If you can't see the connection between the two, I need to buy you a new dictionary."
Really, wry was almost as good as full-out sarcasm. It was like eating lunch with the verbal version of Gypsy Rose Lee. The feather fan would be coming out soon, and then House would need to change his pants.
***
The perfect day was getting a little boring once lunch was done. There were still no new patients, Chase had gone home sick, Foreman didn't react to him at all anymore, and Cameron refused to blush, no matter how much innuendo he threw at her. He didn't have clinic hours today, either, which normally would be a good thing, but Wilson did and refused to be convinced to sneak out to see the new Bond film.
Which left House with only one solution.
"Do you know what I find fascinating?" House asked as he entered the exam room.
Wilson didn't even bother to glance up from the ear he was examining. "Please pay no attention to him," he told the startled woman.
"You're obsessed with whether or not I'm obsessed."
"We'll leave aside who just barged in to whose exam room, shall we?" Wilson replied calmly, pulling back the scope and feeling up under the woman's ears. "Is this tender?" he asked her, while smiling reassuringly.
She shook her head, obviously charmed, but kept glancing back at House as if he was a lion come for the stalking goat.
"Really," Wilson comforted her, "he only attacks the ones he loves."
House put on his best "wounded" face. "Now, that's patently untrue." He turned suddenly, face thrust in freaked-out-woman's space. "I attack everybody."
The woman shrunk away, but Wilson touched her lightly on the elbow and stage whispered, "Don't let him smell your fear," he warned her, then leaned back and wrote a quick prescription. "You have a minor ear infection. You should be fine, just take this and come back if it doesn't help."
The woman raced out of the room at record speed.
"Bored, are we?" Wilson asked dryly as he headed over to finish up writing whatever he had to write in freaked-out-woman's chart.
"Only small minds are ever bored," House said loftily. Wilson didn't say anything or turn around from the counter. "I may cry like a little girl if I don't find something to do soon," House admitted.
Wilson finally turned around with a smile. "As enjoyable as that would be to watch, some of us smaller minds have actual work to do."
House put in as much whine as he could stand to hear from himself. "The runny noses of the world can squelch on without you for one afternoon."
"And the people out there who are genuinely ill?" Wilson asked innocently, leaning back against the counter and crossing his ankles. House put it down to his boredom that he found everything Wilson did today nearly drool-worthy.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were the last doctor on the planet, Schweitzer," House said, ignoring his desire to jump Wilson.
"I give till it hurts you," Wilson said as he walked back out into the waiting room.
***
He never convinced Wilson to ditch the clinic early, but he did end up with Wilson on his couch, so he decided to call it a draw. Wilson agreeing to make dinner, when they couldn't find the suddenly missing takeout menus which normally graced House's hall stand, made victory all the sweeter.
"So, obsession is a good thing, huh?" Wilson asked from his sprawl on House's couch, beer firmly in hand.
"Obsession, focused in the right direction, is necessary to human growth," House said.
Wilson looked at him.
"What, you think the special sauce just makes itself?" House asked, scandalized.
Wilson snorted. House was really far gone, he figured, if he found even that kind of hot. Unfortunately, he hadn't had nearly enough beer yet to make "I was drunk and didn't know what I was doing" a viable excuse yet.
"Your obsessions may have made you the best at what you do, but they've also made you alone," Wilson said.
House didn't want to go down this road, not tonight. Not ever, actually. He was tired of hearing about how miserable he was. He was tired of hearing how he drove everyone away. Maybe, just a little, he was tired of being alone. He was definitely tired of Wilson's sanctimonious looks and comments.
He was tired of fighting wanting Wilson.
Later, he could tell himself he was just trying to get a rise out of Wilson. He wanted to ruffle him, make him react. He wanted to stop yet another in a long series of lectures about how poor Dr. House was covering his deep emotional pain by being an ass. He was sure it would be of great comfort when he was alone and nursing a broken nose.
House reached for the remote and turned off the TV. Wilson looked startled.
"I think you're jealous," House said, turning on the couch to stare at him.
Wilson sputtered in surprise. "Of you? Would that be your complete lack of personal relationships or your drug addiction?" he asked.
"I think you hate it when my obsessions don't include you," House said, enjoying the thrill of juggling with emotional razor blades. He knew better than anyone that Wilson could turn this game back on him, but he wanted to see if he would.
Wilson looked genuinely irritated now, which was not unusual. "When would that be? When you call me away from my wife's--"
"Wives," House corrected.
"--dinner party?" Wilson continued, gritting his teeth. "Or when you drag me into one of your insane schemes against Cuddy?"
"Yes, because you often fight me off tooth and nail," House offered sarcastically. "I love how you cast me as this evil Svengali. luring the sweet, innocent oncologist away from all that is true and pure," House spat out, a little surprised at his own resentment.
"I never said--" Wilson started to protest, but House wasn't in the mood to get interrupted.
"You talk about how I make you do this or I force you to do that. But it never seems to occur to you to say no," he continued.
"Because if I say no, you're left out there on your own, causing more havoc," Wilson argued. House wondered if he even believed what he was saying.
"Oh, good St. James, sacrificing himself for the good of the masses," House went on, leaning in close enough he saw what looked like panic in Wilson's eyes. Whether that's where it originated or it was a reflection of his own, he couldn't say. "What would I have to do to get you to say no, I wonder."
And he kissed him. Wilson froze for about two seconds, and House thought, "This is it. This is too far." Then Wilson nearly knocked him over, kissing him back.
Wilson pulled back and House blinked at him trying to focus. "Best no I've ever heard," he said, trying not to pant.
Wilson smirked. Bastard. "I think you need a better kissing-to-English dictionary if that's how you translated it," he said and leaned in again.
This was the best kind of conversation with Wilson. House pushed and Wilson pushed back just as hard. Wilson's hands were just as eager as his own, and had already opened his shirt halfway down. Wilson's mouth was just as hungry, and the slight edge of teeth biting against his lips kept it all from feeling too sweet. There was no hesitation, no concern for his feelings or his leg. It was raw and it was honest, and House thought they just might tear each other to pieces. He loved every moment of it.
Wilson pulled away abruptly and stood up.
"If you run away now, I'm bombing your car tomorrow," House promised.
"That's so sweet," Wilson said, and grabbed House's hand, attempting to haul him off the couch. "I am too old to have sex on the couch, and you're not flexible enough. Come on."
"What makes you think I want to have sex with you?" House asked, resisting the pull from Wilson and drawing his hand back. He was feeling contrary and liking to torture himself as much as anyone.
"I'm assuming you don't want romance and candlelight," Wilson said, crossing his arms. He looked good and far too confident for House to come along so easily.
"I can see why you get married so often, if you move this fast," House complained, still not budging from the couch. "You know I was trying to make a point. Which I made pretty well, if you ask me."
For the first time, Wilson really did look uncertain. His arms fell to his sides, and he shifted from one foot to the other. "You didn't... But..."
"On the other hand," House went on, too horny to drag this out any longer. "You did prove my point for me nicely, so I think you deserve a reward. Sex it is then."
Wilson stood staring at him for several moments. "You know," he finally said slowly, "when I kill you, I won't even have to hide the body. I'll prop it up in the clinic. People will throw me a parade."
"Stick some roses around me, and they might even throw in a football game," House agreed, and held up his hand to be pulled off the couch.
"I'd throw the thorns on your bed, but that's not the little prick I'm after right now," Wilson muttered, keeping hold of his hand and dragging him along behind.
"Don't tell me you're one of those that can only do it in a bed with the lights off," House scoffed, but followed him with no resistance. His leg really wouldn't have let him stay in that position on the couch for long anyway. "The chandelier incident I heard about from Patty in ortho must have been pure imagination."
Wilson actually stopped and turned around. "How did you--? Never mind, just get in here."
God, needling Wilson during sex was even more fun than House could have imagined, House thought as he was pushed towards the bed.
Talking stopped for a while, as they removed each others' clothes, and continued to kiss as if their lives depended on it. As if they'd been starving for each other for years.
Wilson may have said he knew House didn't want romance and candlelight, but somewhere along the way, so slowly House couldn't even say when it happened, the kisses softened, and the carresses became less about grasping each other than holding. He couldn't even say when he started to cradle Wilson's head, rather than grip his ass, but he found himself doing it, and he couldn't even find it in him to mock himself.
Wilson finally fell back onto the bed naked, and spread out his arms, displaying himself for House. House enjoyed the view for a while, standing at the foot of the bed, letting the dangerous feeling in his own head ease. He couldn't let the tenderness go, not completely, but he couldn't stay that open, not even with Wilson. Nerves should never be exposed to air for too long.
"Planning on joining me any time soon?" Wilson asked, putting one hand behind his head and resting the other on his stomach, not quite teasing them both, but obviously supremely confident.
He wanted to eat Wilson alive. Or possibly beat him until he stopped looking so smug.
"Just trying to remember if I left the iron on," he said, not staring--he wasn't, he swore to himself--but still unable to look away with no concern.
Wilson closed his eyes and threw his head back, groaning. "Not now, House," he said, aggrieved.
Okay, that was all the stalling he needed to do. They both knew House didn't care that much, didn't want this with everything in him, and that was good enough for him. He climbed onto the bed between Wilson's legs.
"If I, say, concentrate on this," House said, licking up the crease of Wilson's leg to his groin. Wilson moaned and clutched at his head. "Does that make me obsessed?"
Wilson almost growled. "It makes you a bastard," he said through clenched teeth, trying to push House's head down towards his dick.
House resisted. "And here I thought it was my obsession which made me a bastard."
Wilson gripped his hair harder and looked at him. "If I promise never to bring up the 'o' word again, will you blow me?" he begged. If you could call it begging when the beggar was also glaring.
"But wouldn't that lead to a different 'o' word?" he asked innocently, trying not to wince. Wilson had an absurdly strong grip. He was about to make a comment about hand strength and masturbation when he found himself flat on his back with an aroused and annoyed--and, yes, he was man enough to admit it, hot--Wilson straddling his chest.
"The only 'o' word I am going to be using soon is 'origami,' which I will practice on you if you do not get back to the sex right now," he said and inched forward.
House did not object to this position, either physical or rhetorical, and proved it by leaning forward and taking Wilson in his mouth.
Wilson gasped and grabbed the headboard just above and behind House. He pushed forward only slightly, obviously trying to keep his impulses in check and not gag House.
House didn't want to admit how hot he found this whole situation, but it was a little late to deny it. Wilson moaned again and did another aborted thrust.
If there was one thing he didn't find hot about Wilson, it was when he was overly polite. House slid his hands to Wilson's ass, pushing him forward, further into House's mouth.
House wasn't sure which he was happier about: not gagging or the sound Wilson made then.
Wilson rode him, thrusting down with abandon and no longer hesitating. House watched him as he threw back his head in pleasure. House could see the muscles in his arms flexing and straining, his hands gripping the headboard as if it was the only thing holding him upright.
I could be anyone, House thought, and used his teeth just a little in retaliation. Wilson gasped again, and his head fell forward as his eyes slitted open.
"House," he said once and came.
House reached down to his own erection, still holding Wilson's ass with his other hand, and jerked himself twice before coming.
Wilson soon collapsed to the side, sprawling out and taking more than his share of the bed. House would bitch at him for it as soon as the room stopped spinning.
"I love 'o' words," Wilson admitted, panting. House couldn't argue with that.
It took several minutes before they both had their breathing under control, and with a minimum amount of bitching (for them), they managed to arrange themselves somewhat comfortably under the covers.
"Want to be my next obsession, do you?" House figured that by making it a question about Wilson, with Wilson as the subject, it would make him sound less pathetic. And as if Wilson hadn't been an obsession of his for years.
For once, Wilson only partially followed his lead. He reached down and touched the back of House's neck.
"I've had worse offers," he said with a frighteningly soft smile and kissed House.
-30-
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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