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  Something Old 
 by l57371  

 House was just getting comfortable on the couch, slouching down into the
welcoming cushions, feet up on the coffee table, when a knock sounded at
the door. '

'Use your key!'' he shouted, barely moving except for the slight roll of
his eyes. Only one person would be calling this late on a Friday night,
and the pizza guy had already been and gone. He heard the scrape of a key
in the lock and smirked. Had to be him, of course. 

''You know, one of these days it's not going to be me at the door,''
Wilson said, shutting it softly behind him and shrugging out of his coat. 

''The day that happens, someone else will be living here,'' House growled
in reply, never taking his eyes from the television. He waited for Wilson
to make himself comfortable on the other end of the chesterfield. And
waited. And waited. 

Finally he craned his neck around to peer at Wilson, still standing by the
door with his coat in his hand and trailing on the floor, his other hand
covering his face as he hung his head. Well, this was new. 

''Are you planning to actually come in or are you just going to stand
there and drip emo all over the floor?'' House groused, eyeing him
carefully. 

''Like there isn't enough crap on this floor already,'' Wilson responded,
sounding like he was on autopilot, scrubbing his fingers over his eyes and
down to his chin. 

House frowned slightly and turned back to the TV. ''Sit. Bring beer with
you,'' he said in dismissal, vaguely hoping that Wilson would just follow
orders and forget about whatever it was that was obviously bothering him.
He had been hoping Wilson would be in a good mood, good enough to maybe
... or maybe not. Not tonight, he guessed. 

Again he waited. In vain, it turned out. 

He sighed heavily and screwed his eyes shut tightly. ''Are you going to
sit or not?'' 

Wilson exhaled audibly behind him and House heard the coat rustle to the
floor. Eventually he felt the end of the chesterfield dip as Wilson
finally sank into it. He chanced a glance over to see the man sitting just
on the edge of the cushion, shoulders slumped and face cushioned in his
palms, elbows resting on knees. The very picture of defeat. 

''You didn't bring the beer,'' House noted. He raised his eyebrows and
puffed out his cheeks a little, waiting expectantly. 

''God, House, just ... not now, okay?'' Wilson said into his hands. 

''Well, aren't you stimulating company today? Okay, fine. If it'll make
you get the beer any faster, tell me what happened to get your panties all
in a twist.'' He settled back into the chesterfield and turned partially
towards his friend, prepared for a long and drawn out whine from Wilson
involving patients and ex-wives and whatnot, the same as always. 

Wilson leaned back and dropped his head to the back of the sofa, letting
his arms drop to his sides limply. He heaved another big sigh and looked
over towards House, pressing his lips together into a thin line. 

''I'm fine.'' 

House raised an eyebrow. ''Hokay then.'' He turned back to the TV. 

''It's just...'' 

House slumped, sighing dramatically. ''Just what?'' 

''I guess I'm just ... tired.'' 

''Then you should have had a nap before you came.'' 

''Not sleepy tired.'' 

''Fine. No nap then.'' House turned his attention resolutely back to the
television. For a few minutes there was silence. 

''Frustrated, maybe,'' said Wilson finally.


Slowly House turned his head to look at the other man again. ''You're
frustrated. Fine. Find a woman. That should take care of any frustration
you have.'' 

''No, not that kind of frustrated. Just ... my job is frustrating, my
patients are frustrating.'' 

''Duh. People with cancer die. You knew that going in.'' 

''So much death. Dying patients, dying marriages, running off to a dozen
different meetings and then more dying.'' Wilson dug the heels of his
hands into his eyes and left them there. 

''Well what do you want to do about it then?'' House rounded on him, loud
and demanding. 

''I need ... something. Something different. Something new. Something not
my usual.'' He sighed and looked back towards House again. ''Does that
make any sense?'' 

''No, none at all. This is what you chose for yourself. You don't get to
cry about it now.'' House rolled his eyes dramatically and shifted forward
a little. ''If you want something different, then you have to choose
something different. Don't wait for it to just fall into your lap. Make a
choice for something new.'' 

''How can I do that if I don't really know what to change?'' Wilson
snorted a small laugh. ''I haven't even got the first clue what to do to
change anything. How pathetic is that?'' 

''Pretty pathetic,'' House agreed. He flicked his eyes back to the TV.
''Now are you going to get the beer?'' 

''Oh my god, fine.'' Wilson hoisted himself out of the chesterfield and
made for the kitchen. ''How on Earth would you ever manage to survive
without someone to bring your beer for you?'' 

''Just fine, thank you very much,'' House replied. ''But it tastes better
when you do it.'' He tilted his head and batted his eyelashes at Wilson,
returning from the fridge with two bottles. 

That got an almost-smile out of Wilson as he sat back down on the
chesterfield. Ah, mission accomplished. Almost, House thought. But good
enough for now. He settled back as well and let himself be pulled into the
vacuous story on the television. For now, all was right with the world. He
had beer, he had Wilson, he had the TV, what more could he want? 

* * * * * 

When he opened his eyes, House found himself slumped back on the
chesterfield, his bad leg stretched in front of him and his good one
crooked up on the cushion, his back wedged into the corner of the
chesterfield. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, looking to the other end to
see Wilson fast asleep and in much the same position, but listing to his
left as he slid slowly down the rear cushions. House eyed him for a
moment, wondering if he dared try something small, just a little
experiment. 

Wilson continued to slide slowly and House knew that he'd wake up if he
fell any further, and House definitely didn't want that happening. Wilson
asleep was Wilson easily manipulated. Many times House had experimented
with subliminal suggestion and he found Wilson to be especially receptive
to ideas whispered in the night. From breakfast ideas to suggestions about
what to cook for dinner, Wilson had always produced. Okay, so far it had
been limited to food, but House now felt ready to take the experiment one
step further. Tentatively he reached out and grasped Wilson's bicep,
lightly tugging it towards him. 

Wilson came willingly, shifting sideways to fall lightly against House's
chest, letting his head drop against House's shoulder. He jostled around
for a moment, nestling into his new body pillow, then brought a hand up
and curled it under his chin, sighed a deep breath and dropped back to
sleep. House smiled into the top of Wilson's head and brought his arms up
to lightly enfold the sleeping man. That was easier than he'd thought it
would be. But now the question was, what next? 

Maybe, House thought, he should just enjoy what he had for as long as he
had it. He had no idea if it would ever progress further than it already
had, or indeed if it would ever happen again. Then again, when had he ever
let well enough alone? Right. Phase two, coming up. 

House began to lightly trail his fingertips up and down Wilson's bicep,
stroking the lax muscles under the wrinkled button-down shirt, and Wilson
nuzzled softly into House's chest, a brief, quiet hum in the back of his
throat as he did. House stepped up the pressure in the caresses, running
his fingers the full length of Wilson's arm and up to his shoulder,
circling the trapezius at the top and then making his way down again. He
rubbed his chin over Wilson's hair, stubble catching in the soft strands
and tickling his lips. The scent of Wilson's shampoo wafted in his
nostrils, bringing back the memory of being able to smell Wilson in his
bathroom, on his furniture. 

Again Wilson shifted against him, his hip brushing against House's crotch.
He felt a delicious rush of heat pooling where Wilson had just touched
him, and couldn't help the slight buck of his hips upwards and the low
moan that sounded in his chest. Wilson's head jerked up at the sound and
he scrubbed a hand over his eyes, yawning widely. Then, as his eyes
opened, he realized where he was. 

''Why are you holding me?'' he asked confusedly, his eyebrows coming
together as he looked up into House's face. 

''Seemed like the polite thing to do, considering you were treating me as
a pillow,'' House replied softly, a little gruffly. He stopped his hand
from rubbing Wilson's arm but kept the man in his embrace. 

''I ... you ... wait, what?'' Wilson was obviously not quite awake yet,
unable to form a coherent thought, and not thinking to remove himself from
his House pillow. 

''Yes, you. Me. One of us is being furniture at the moment. Here's a hint,
it's not you.' House still made no move to let go of Wilson or shift his
weight from his chest. 

''Oh, sorry, I'll move,'' Wilson yawned. He pushed a hand against House's
chest to lift himself off. 

''I didn't say you had to move, I was just making an observation,'' House
said and tightened his arms around Wilson again. 

''O ... kay,'' Wilson said. ''You want me to ... stay?'' 

House said nothing, just moved his arms slightly and rubbed his chin over
Wilson's hair again. ''If you want to.'' 

Wilson breathed out forcefully through his nose and pursed his lips,
looking as if he were thinking deep thoughts. 

''Well if you have to think that hard on it...'' House began, shifting
himself to slide off the sofa. 

''No, stay.'' Wilson grabbed at his arm and pressed his weight down a
little, pinning House to the cushions. ''I ... I want to stay.'' 

House said nothing but relaxed back into the chesterfield, raising his
arms again to encircle Wilson, who nuzzled cautiously into House's chest
again. House again rubbed his chin over Wilson's hair, this time trailing
his lips over the top of Wilson's head, kissing lightly over his scalp. 

Wilson's eyes fluttered shut again. ''What are we...?'' he began but House
cut him off quickly. 

''Don't talk. Just ... don't.'' 

Wilson nodded slightly and closed his lips, his nostrils flaring, his
breathing loud and ragged in the oppressive silence. Slowly he raised his
face to look up at House, his eyes flickering open. 

And that was when the world split open. 

House's lips met Wilson's in a soft, chaste, dry kiss and House's mind
fuzzed out, a white buzzing sound in his brain. An electric shock went
from his lips to his brain and down to his belly and he was helpless, he
had no choice but to deepen the kiss and shift over a little trying to
bring their bodies into alignment. Soon they were face to face, chest to
chest, belly to belly, kissing deeply and wringing moans from each other's
throats, battling with tongues and teeth. 

Hands scrabbled at shirts, House succeeding first at pulling up Wilson's
Oxford and running his hands eagerly over the soft skin of his belly and
back, trailing his finger tips over the vertebrae, counting ribs. Wilson
gasped, fisting his hands into the back of House's shirt and hanging on
for dear life, and moaned in protest as House pushed him away slightly and
started pulling at the buttons on Wilson's shirt. 

House trailed his lips over Wilson's chin and down his throat, sucking
lightly at the soft skin of his neck, running the flat of his tongue over
the slight burn of evening stubble on Wilson's throat. The first button
slid free and House went to work on the second on, kissing the skin of his
chest as it was exposed. Button by button he worked his way down until he
got to the waist of Wilson's pants. 

And realized his arms were nearly trapped above his head. Wilson still had
a hold on the hem of his t-shirt and was pulling it upwards even as he
himself was heading down. House wriggled his arms free and ducked his head
out of the t-shirt, leaving Wilson holding it empty and his hands free to
trail down Wilson's chest and sides. Smooth move, he thought to himself
absently. 

Quickly House went to work on Wilson's belt, pulling free quickly and then
sliding free the button on his pants, pulling down the zipper, and running
his hands under the elastic of his boxer briefs, pushing them roughly down
and freeing Wilson's growing erection. Wilson gasped out loud as the air
hit him and raised his hips, enabling House to push the clothing
completely out of the way and halfway down Wilson's thighs. 

House rushed onward blindly, not stopping to think about what he was doing
or what Wilson would say about it. He blew a stream of warm air softly
over Wilson's hardening cock and was rewarded with another audible gasp
and a twitch of Wilson's hips. He smiled at the reaction. Oh yeah, he's
into it. 

Tentatively he licked the hard, throbbing head of Wilson's cock, tongue
brushing lightly up and around the leaking slit and back down again.
Wilson gave a strangled moan and dropped his hands heavily onto House's
shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles there, but pulling him closer,
not pushing him away. House took it as encouragement and sucked the tip of
Wilson's hot cock into his mouth. 

Above him he heard Wilson's breathing speed up to a pant. House lowered
his head and took more of Wilson into his mouth, slowly taking him in inch
by inch until he felt Wilson's cock hit the back of his throat, and then
pulled back until his lips hit the ridge of the head. Back down and up
again, down and up until Wilson was bucking his hips in time to House's
ministrations. 

''Ohgod, ohyes, ohgod, ohmygodhouse, ohYES!'' Wilson chanted as House
sucked, his mouth tight over Wilson's straining prick, leaking and
throbbing and hot on House's tongue. His hips stopped their thrusting
motion and were still, quivering with need, until with a harsh, guttural
sob he started to come, hard, shooting hot bitter semen down House's
throat. Eagerly House swallowed it down, draining the last drop from him
and licking Wilson clean before letting his softening cock drop from his
mouth. 

House reached for one of the beer bottles still sitting on the table and
took a mouthful, swishing it around his mouth and swallowing it. He looked
up at Wilson, still coming down from the high, flushed and panting, lips
moving but making no sound, and felt a tug in his stomach just as his
ruined thigh twinged and registered its protest at its position, lying
pressed into the chesterfield cushions. He groaned and shifted onto his
side, pulling himself up the sofa again. He pressed into Wilson's body,
seeking some friction for his own hardened, throbbing cock. 

Wilson was still breathing hard, like he'd just run a race, and tried to
speak. ''House ... we just ... you ...'' His hand flailed in the air like
he was trying to grab words that made sense. 

''Quiet. Don't talk,'' House ordered, his voice rough and hoarse. He
snaked his arms around Wilson's body and pulled the man closer, his hips
thrusting against Wilson's side as his own excitement mounted. 

''I don't think ... I've never done ...'' Wilson tried again, his voice a
little stronger this time. 

''I know,'' gasped House raggedly, clenching his teeth in frustration. 

Suddenly Wilson moved away from him, turned onto his side and pulled House
closer, pushing on his top shoulder to turn him onto his back. Wilson's
hand scrabbled at House's jeans, popping open the button and jerking the
fly down roughly. House felt his underwear being pushed down and at the
first touch of Wilson's fingers on his aching cock he gasped and felt a
low moan rip from his throat. Wilson set up a fast rhythm, no mercy, and
soon House threw his head back, moaning for release. 

Wilson covered House's lips with his own, swallowing the groans and
probing for more, his tongue invading House's mouth with abandon. 

All too soon House felt the sparks of orgasm shooting up his spine,
through his belly, down his cock, and he pumped his release into Wilson's
hand, crying out with each shot as it painted his belly white. Wilson
dropped House's cock when he'd wrung out the last shudder and wrapped his
arm around House's chest, resting his forehead against House's, waiting
for him to become coherent again. 

''We just ... had sex,'' Wilson said, his voice breathy with wonder. 

''Really, that's what that was?'' House had lost none of his sarcastic
tone even in orgasm. ''I'd never have known. Thanks so much, Captain
Obvious. So what are you going to do about it?'' 

Wilson was silent for a moment, trailing his fingers along House's side
and brushing his lips lightly against House's forehead, eyelids, cheeks.
''Do it again?'' 

House snorted a chuckle. ''If you think you can wait a bit, sure.'' He
turned a little to face Wilson and opened his eyes. ''Well, you wanted
something new. Does this fit the bill?'' 

Wilson looked away and his eyebrows knit in thought. 

House continued. ''Except this isn't something new, is it? It's something
old. Something that's always been there. It's not really even much of a
change, for you anyway. It's still just sex.'' 

Wilson breathed out heavily through his nose and shook his head slightly.
''No, this is definitely new. And it's not just sex. It's sex with someone
too important to screw it up with.'' 

House made a rude noise in his throat. ''Pfft. What was that, a
declaration?'' He attempted to sit up and start gathering his clothes.
''Come on.'' 

''Come where?'' Wilson queried, pushing himself vertical as well. 

''Bed. Where else?'' House replied as if it were the most obvious thing in
the world. 

''With you? Your bed?'' Wilson kept questioning even as he rose from the
couch and followed after House. 

''Are you always this stupid after sex?'' House grouched. 

''Apparently, yes.'' Wilson smiled. ''I think that's why I keep getting
married.'' 

House looked back over his shoulder as he reached the doorway. ''No danger
of that this time,'' he said with raised eyebrows. ''Trust me.'' 

''Good,'' whispered Wilson under his breath. Maybe this something new,
something old, whichever it was, would work out after all.  
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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.