smut fic, set immediately after the s8 episode "transplant".

PS copy and pasting deleted all my italics but im not fixing them oops pls enjoy tho <3

—

After solving the case involving a pair of lungs in a box for a woman dying of cancer, House heads home with an aching face and a bruise on his cheek in the shape of Wilson's knuckles. It hurts, yet he can't stop his lips from quirking up into a smile when he thinks about it. He doesn't particularly enjoy being hit, of course, but he's just glad that this means that he and Wilson are back to being best friends again. And he's also glad that Wilson didn't opt for the other choice of kicking him in the nuts.

He takes a cab home, secretly grateful that Foreman had made sure to get his utilities switched back on for him ahead of time, but House would never admit his gratitude aloud nor say 'thank you'. When he opens the door to his apartment, it looks the same as it ever did, if a little dustier, maybe. He hasn't been back here since getting out of prison, instead deciding to spend all of his time at the hospital, avoiding home like the plague, though he isn't all that sure why. He wonders if Dominika has been around at all or not in his absence.

He realizes a moment later that he doesn't really care if she has, and he doesn't care if she knows that he's out of prison or not. She may technically be his wife, but it's just a paper marriage and nothing more. They never got married out of love, and they're certainly not a couple. They're barely even friends. House doesn't love her.

At this point in his life, though, House doesn't even think he really believes in love anymore.

He loved Stacy, but he lost her and then made the choice to let her go. He loved Cuddy, too, and he lost her as well. He could've loved Lydia, if only she'd chosen to leave her husband and stay in New Jersey. So the only person that he… has deeply cared for, and has never managed to completely drive away, is… Wilson.

House is fairly certain that nothing more than friendship could ever come from his relationship with the man, though – not that he has ever expected or actually thought that there really could be more between them. He'd toyed with the idea in his head, but never took it seriously. He can't imagine what a relationship with Wilson would be like, because as it is, their friendship has fallen apart multiple times – the only reason they're friends again now is because Wilson might just be more insane than House realized.

(Probably not insane enough to hook up with House, though.)

And House has learned from his mistakes – he isn't going to lose Wilson like he lost everyone and everything else in his miserable life. What he had said earlier to Wilson – about how he liked him and had fun with him – was as close as House will probably ever get to a real confession of how he truly feels. He's so screwed up and repressed that it was all he could allow himself to admit to the man. But the truth is that he cares about Wilson, maybe even... loves him, in a way, and he needs him in his life. He wants Wilson in his life. He just doesn't know how to express it any other way than he has been, which, frankly, hadn't exactly gone so well for him. If Wilson's patient had died or they'd lost those lungs, House and Wilson still probably wouldn't be on good terms, so… House will take what he can get. He won't ask for more.

He sighs and tosses his backpack somewhere before he takes off his blazer and tosses it somewhere, moving to the couch to lower himself onto it with a tired sigh. Wilson is supposed to come by with dinner, but House doesn't know when. He guesses probably soon, though.

It feels strange to be back here, if he's honest. He still remembers the last time he'd been here, when at the last minute he had recalled that Cuddy had left her hairbrush here and wanted it back. He figured he could take it to her, get them one step closer back to normalcy – or as close to it as they could ever be after the breakup – but when he arrived, he had seen her inside with somebody else. It had been only hours after she'd just told him she wasn't seeing anyone, too. He stood there in her front yard, feeling betrayed as he stared through the window at her, and she looked… happy.

And he didn't know why, but her happiness pissed him off. He was still hurting from the breakup but trying to hide it, trying to change and overcome all of his self-destructive behaviors – though mostly the recent ones – and trying to just move on with his life, but he couldn't. He completely fucking snapped, and three months later, landed himself in prison. And he still regrets it, because maybe they could've gone back to the way they were before, maybe they could've had some kind of friendship, but once again, like everything else, he screwed it up.

In a way, he's kind of glad that he never saw her again, that they never got to have a goodbye like he did with Stacy or Lydia. He wouldn't have been able to face her again after what he did, after everything he ever did. He wouldn't even know how to apologize to her, where to begin.

It's different with Wilson. Wilson is like House and doesn't really require apologies in words – actions are what matter most to them. All House had to do to win him back is what he always does, really – he saved a life. More specifically, Wilson's dying cancer patient's life. And now it seems to be like nothing has changed between them in the past year – it's like they've picked up right where they left off. And that's just one reason why Wilson would be perfect for him. House has a whole list of reasons, not that he'd ever admit it.

For example, one reason is that House is a needy person, and Wilson needs to be needed. He thrives on it. House is a taker, and Wilson is a giver. House is crazy, and Wilson just might be crazier, in a way – he just hides it better. With Wilson, House can be himself and Wilson doesn't seem to mind it, because in return he can let go and doesn't have to be a nice guy all the time. They have similar interests, inside jokes. They don't have to be careful around each other.

But House won't screw up what they already have. He can't lose it, especially now that pretty much everything else in his life is in shambles. He has no real team to speak of and doesn't know where exactly his old one went or if they'll come back, his former fellow is now his boss and essentially owns him, he drove his last boss away because they broke up and he's a lunatic that crashed his car into her dining room, he's on house arrest and could go back to prison for the slightest fuck up… the list could go on. At least he has his office and his best friend back – the latter being the most important of the two.

House doesn't know how long he sits on the couch thinking, but he snaps out of it when there's a knock at the door. Assuming it's Wilson, House gets up with only a little bit of pain and moves to the door to open it.

Wilson has two plastic bags with take out containers in them and he brings them inside, heading directly for the kitchen without a word. Neither one of them speaks as House moves into the kitchen as well to watch Wilson put the containers on the table in the middle of the room and open each of them to find out what's inside. Wilson then slides two containers towards House and keeps the other two, digging around in the bag for plastic forks wrapped in more plastic. He still hasn't spoken.

House decides to break the silence first. "Thanks," he murmurs, opening his containers. Wilson brought him a burger, which actually looks amazing, and some onion rings. Wilson himself seems to have gotten a steak, like he'd wanted, and he transfers it onto a plate to eat. House eyes him carefully and then digs into his own food, wondering what's on Wilson's mind right now.

They eat in silence. House almost wishes he had any alcohol to offer in hopes it would make this visit any less tense, but unfortunately he doesn't.

Finally, once the food is gone, Wilson speaks for the first time since arriving. "How's the…" he starts and then trails off, gesturing to his own face in the place where House's bruise has formed. He sounds a bit apologetic which makes House want to laugh.

"Hurts," he admits, crumpling up the napkin that he'd used to wipe off his face, "but it's good." He wants to ask about Wilson's knuckles, but the awkward silence is back so he decides not to.

"Let me have a look," Wilson offers and House chooses not to protest, letting Wilson into his personal space. Wilson hesitates before touching House's face, gently turning his head ever so slightly to get a better look – the way Wilson touches him now is the direct opposite of earlier, and House holds his breath now that they've gotten so close to each other. "Yeah, it's bruised," Wilson states unnecessarily, his thumb brushing over the tender spot, almost touching House's lip. "Sorry." Wilson then lets House's face go.

His apology sounds sincere, but House doesn't want an apology, so he just shrugs in response. "I told you to do it," he says quietly and Wilson nods with a sigh.

"Yeah, and it felt good," he admits. "Cathartic."

House can't stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up, watching Wilson put his hands on his hips and shake his head.

"You know…" he begins again, "I spent the last year so pissed at you for what you did, but… I did miss having you around, screwing with me and making me pay for your lunch and stuff. Missed… this." He gestures to the empty containers on the table. A moment of silence passes and then he continues speaking. "When I learned that they finally found you after three months and you had gone to prison, I wanted to visit. Thought about it really hard, but… I was still too angry with you and your stupid decisions to talk myself into going. So I just… never did. Time flew by after that, and… yeah. It's… it's good to see you now. Really."

House nods at that, not really sure how to reply.

"Tell me about it?" Wilson then asks vaguely, nodding towards the couch, and House knits his eyebrows together in slight confusion. Wilson then clears his throat and awkwardly clarifies, "Tell me about… prison?"

House thinks about it and then nods again, so they head into the living room to sit, House's leg aching and burning uncomfortably. They sit oddly close together, but neither one points it out.

A moment passes, and then Wilson curiously inquires, "So how bad was it?"

"Bad," House answers immediately, remembering two months ago when he'd been threatened, had gotten his head bashed in, his things stolen, was nearly shanked, kept awake from the pain, and more – all within the span of a week. The eight months before it weren't pretty either. "But," House adds after some time, rubbing his thigh, "it was… manageable. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say that I'm glad to be out, even though I can't go anywhere."

Wilson seems unsure of how to respond to that.

"You know I was supposed to actually get out on parole two months ago?" House offers up conversationally. "For 'relatively good behavior'. And overcrowding."

"Why didn't you?" Wilson asks, sounding confused. House sighs at that.

"I got involved when an inmate got sick," he answers, which honestly by itself explains a lot. He wishes now though that he would've just let it go then so he could've gotten out when he was supposed to. But he's House. He couldn't drop it – he had to know. "I tried to give him five aspirin to see if he would go into anaphylactic shock. To prove my diagnosis of mastocytosis. The girl working at the clinic believed I was right and gave it to him anyway, despite it resulting in her being fired, and in the end… I was right… but I was still written up for it, and I lost my parole."

"Sounds about right," Wilson says and House nods in agreement. "You can't ever let anything go."

"What about you?" House asks after a moment, steering the conversation away from himself and prison. "Anything change while I was gone? Besides the diet, I mean. Well, former diet."

Wilson shrugs at that, exhaling. "Not really," he answers honestly. "Things just… kind of changed around me, I guess. You went to prison, your team all left, Cuddy left… and suddenly Foreman was my boss. Even your office was gone after a while. It was almost like you'd never been there to begin with. Everything… changed. But I didn't. Not really."

House gives a terse nod, deciding not to linger on that. He wonders what to ask next. He could ask if Wilson still talks to Cuddy, find out how she's doing, or he could ask about his old team, or see if Wilson has seen Dominika at all in the past year. Instead he goes with, "Seeing anyone?"

At the look on Wilson's face, he suddenly really wishes he had some liquor.

His friend gives a little laugh, like he isn't sure what to make of the question. "No," he responds easily, and House can tell that it isn't a lie. "I haven't really been interested, I guess. Been pretty busy."

"Busy waiting for me to get out of the slammer?" House quips and Wilson laughs a little again. It's a nice sound.

"Yeah, something like that," he says, and House wonders what that actually means. Is it an admission? Or just a joke? He doesn't think about it for very long, but then Wilson adds, very quietly, "I missed you. Not just your antics and the bets and the jokes and everything else, but… you. Though god only knows why."

House glances at him and only then realizes just how much he's missed being around Wilson as well. It's nice to be in his company again. House has known Wilson for so long, and yet he's still a bit of a mystery. He's interesting, will always be interesting, and that makes what they have special.

House really does like him.

"You should've just come for a conjugal visit then, if you missed me so much," he jokes. Although honestly, part of him is glad that Wilson never came to visit, never had to see him in prison. Wilson staying away made it easier to avoid thinking about him, which made it easier to avoid missing him. "I know you were angry, but we could've had some really hot sex."

Wilson breathes a laugh at that, but doesn't say anything. For a moment, neither man speaks, and nothing else happens. House tries to decide what to say next, but draws a blank – he doesn't want to talk about Cuddy or his team or Dominika or anything else. Not right now. But he doesn't know what to say without completely changing the subject and ruining the mood.

He doesn't have to know what to say, however, when all of a sudden, Wilson kisses him.

House kisses back without even thinking about it first, his hand automatically coming up to touch Wilson's neck, his thumb stroking along his friend's jaw. Wilson presses closer and House notices him quickly slipping out of his blazer, letting it drop somewhere on the couch behind him before his hands move to grab House's face.

They break apart to breathe and House wants to ask what the hell just happened, but before he can say anything, Wilson shakes his head. "Don't ruin this," he pleads, running a hand over his face, and House stares at him for a moment, lips parting in surprise. Wilson swallows, carefully pressing another quick kiss to House's lips, which House reciprocates. "We can talk later, just…" He interrupts himself by kissing House again, and then lamely finishes with, "Please…"

House supposes that they can talk about this later, nodding wordlessly as his thumb strokes Wilson's cheek. He decides that it's probably for the best if he stays quiet right now and just goes along with this, knowing that if he fucks this up, he might never get this chance again.

Wilson nods back before pressing his lips against House's once more, one of his hands moving to squeeze House's left thigh. The hand moves up and House feels his stomach twist for a moment, but then Wilson just tugs at his button down shirt until it becomes untucked, slipping his hand underneath both shirts House has on to touch bare skin.

All too soon, Wilson is pulling away completely. When House opens his eyes, Wilson is standing and offering a hand to help House get to his feet as well. House takes the extended hand in his own and Wilson pulls him up fairly easily. They kiss again, and it's surprisingly more comfortable, standing like this. House can finally get his arms wrapped around Wilson in an embrace, which Wilson returns, and it feels so satisfying that it nearly takes House's breath away.

A minute or two passes and they break apart again. House wonders what to make of all of this, but decides not to question it for now, not wanting it to stop.

Abandoning his cane, he uses Wilson for support as they make their way back to his bedroom. Once inside, Wilson starts undoing the buttons of House's shirt and then slips it off, leaving him in just his undershirt. In return, House loosens Wilson's tie but then tugs on it until they're chest to chest and Wilson is kissing him again, Wilson's tongue snaking its way into House's mouth. Suddenly, House feels himself being pushed backwards and maneuvered until he's sitting on the side of the bed, Wilson's hands sliding down his back until his undershirt is pulled up and over his head, leaving him bare from the waist up. House reaches for the buttons of Wilson's shirt, while Wilson finishes getting his tie off. Now that they're both shirtless, the clothes go into a pile at their feet.

House and Wilson stare at each other for a moment after that, breathing heavily. Without breaking eye contact, Wilson moves his hands down to undo his own belt and House swallows – it finally fully sinks in what exactly is happening here as his eyes dart to Wilson's hands and then the bulge in his underwear. House wants to break the silence, but he's oddly rendered speechless from anticipation of what's still to come.

Wilson is in his underwear now, and House shamelessly checks him out. Wilson allows it for a few seconds before he moves to touch House's shoulders, and House lets himself be pushed backwards until he's lying flat on his back. Wilson leans over him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his throat, dipping down to his his suprasternal notch, his sternum. House drags a hand over his own face, feeling Wilson move even lower down, to his stomach. There are hands tugging at his belt and House doesn't protest against it – in fact, he feels his cock give a twitch of interest – but he hesitates, and then ever so slightly he lifts his hips so that Wilson can pull his jeans off. He knows that Wilson has seen his scar before many times, but it still doesn't make it any easier now.

The jeans get caught up a bit on the ankle monitor, which is a bit of a mood killer, but Wilson eventually gets them off and onto the floor with the rest of their clothes. House pushes himself up onto his elbows, reaching down with one hand to guide Wilson's face up towards his own before the man can look at his scar. Their lips reconnect and the kiss is much messier than the other ones they've shared so far. Wilson moans into it and House is torn between laughing at how ridiculous this actually feels and echoing the sound. He settles for the latter, lying back again and letting his hands run down Wilson's back, grabbing at his ass.

Wilson bends to kiss House's shoulder, slowly grinding against him when House urges him on, pulling Wilson against himself. His leg hurts but he ignores it, enjoying the way Wilson moves against him. They're both rock hard, which House shouldn't find surprising, but does, considering they'd both apparently considered themselves straight up until now.

Well, actually, House has known for a long time that he's bisexual – he has found himself attracted to many men throughout his life, though it's nowhere near the amount of women that he's been into, of course. He's never actually slept with another man, but he always figured that if he did at some point, it would be Wilson – and he was right, he supposes. His own bisexuality was how he figured out that Thirteen was also bisexual so quickly – it was something she had said that tipped him off, and Foreman seemed to have the same idea. However unlike Thirteen, House has never been open about it, and doubts he ever will be. If someone were to ask him, he wouldn't deny it, of course, but he wouldn't just go around volunteering the information.

He wonders if Wilson had figured it out at some point or not, and if he did, what was going through his head when he did. Maybe he always assumed that House wasn't fully straight just based on his behavior, how often they've flirted or made jokes, or maybe not. House doesn't know. He just wants to know as well how he never realized Wilson wasn't fully straight either. How could he have missed it?

He's curious about how long Wilson has wanted this, how long he's thought about it. For House, it was off and on until Cuddy, and then after the breakup he was still so hurt by her that he didn't know what he wanted anymore. But he wants this now. God, does he want this right now.

"House," Wilson murmurs into his shoulder, and it's the first time either has spoken since they'd left the living room. House presses a kiss to Wilson's jaw, squeezing the flesh of Wilson's ass that's still beneath his hands. "House," Wilson repeats, "I want to fuck you."

Well, House hadn't expected that. Wilson pushes himself upwards until they're looking at each other again, seemingly trying to see House's reaction. If possible, House grows harder at the thought of it, of Wilson bending over him, pushing into him, taking him. It's not exactly what he pictured when he ever let himself think about the two of them together like this in the past – which wasn't very often – but… he's into it. He takes a breath, giving Wilson's ass another squeeze.

"Fine by me," he says after a moment, and Wilson just nods. He doesn't question House to see if he's sure or not, simply accepting the answer and dipping back down for another kiss almost immediately. House prefers it this way anyway – he doesn't need Wilson worrying unnecessarily or coddling him, and he knows that Wilson knows that.

Wilson gets back onto his feet to rid himself of his boxer briefs, watching as House hurries to do the same, his thigh aching. He makes the decision to move up on the bed so that he's no longer sprawled across it sideways but instead lying in the middle, his head hitting the pillows when he lies flat on his back. Wilson climbs back onto the bed now, slotting one of his legs between House's thighs and lowering himself down until they're chest to chest once again. He's mindful of House's leg without being obvious about it, and his body is heavy in a way that is unfamiliar to House but not unwelcome.

They kiss again briefly until Wilson shifts a little, sucking a mark into the place where House's neck meets his shoulder as his hand snakes between them and gently but firmly grasps House's cock.

House makes a quiet, strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat that he will forever deny making as he screws his eyes shut, but Wilson doesn't comment on it, simply lifting his head enough to ask, "Lube?"

House gestures to his right where the table is. "Should be somewhere in there," he murmurs, and Wilson moves a little to have a look, sliding the drawer open. After a moment of searching, he shuts the drawer and has a look at the bottle now in his hand, turning it over.

"Is it any good still?" he asks, and House can only shrug at that, unsure.

"Probably – I only got it a couple of months before everything," he answers, and Wilson seems to deem it good enough, opening it to pour a generous amount into his palm. That same hand moves back to House's cock without any warning, and House hisses at the feeling, his own hands grabbing at Wilson's shoulders. "Fuck," he blurts out softly.

"I'm getting to that," Wilson quips with a small smirk, pressing a kiss to House's chest, then one to his nipple, which makes him squirm.

House rolls his eyes. "Well get to it faster," he demands, and Wilson's smile only grows. He gives House's cock a couple more firm strokes before he eases his hand off and transfers it to his own cock, sighing in what House assumes is relief. He watches Wilson touch himself with interest, sees the way he tenses up and grinds his teeth together before reluctantly stopping a moment or two later. When he opens his eyes and they meet House's own, House gets a little breathless.

If they'd have done this years ago, House is sure they would've talked more during, would've laughed and joked, maybe even argued. Instead, it's like neither one of them really knows what to say. Not after everything that's happened. Both are afraid to screw this up.

Wilson kisses him again briefly before sitting up and urging House to move his legs up until they're bent, and then he spreads them wider, running his hand up House's right calf soothingly.

"How's the leg?" he asks, because he's Wilson and he cares too much.

"Fine," House says even as it throbs and burns – he wishes he had some more Vicodin, but he can't get more until the morning. Wilson doesn't say anything, letting his hand slide up and over House's knee, fingertips ghosting over the scar on his thigh and House shivers at the touch. He sighs then. "Can't stay like this for long," he lets himself admit, knowing that Wilson sees right through him anyway.

Wilson nods. "Do you wanna turn over?"

"Not yet," House tells him, letting his right leg straighten out until he's more comfortable but keeping his other leg bent. He glances over and grabs the other pillow that isn't being used, moving it towards Wilson, who takes it and shoves it under House's hips when he lifts them, ever so slightly propping his lower half up.

He works on trying to relax as Wilson reaches for the lube again and presses a kiss to the side of his bent knee as some sort of comforting gesture. It doesn't really work, but House secretly appreciates it a little. He watches as Wilson coats his fingers in copious amounts of lube before they suddenly lock eyes and House feels frozen. Wilson doesn't speak, but he's asking for permission to touch.

House nods briefly, not giving himself any time to reconsider. He wants this. He knows he wants this. So then why does he feel a little nervous? It's not like it really changes anything at all between them – things changed the moment that Wilson kissed him. Besides, having sex with Wilson was inevitable, House is sure, and he isn't afraid of it. There's been so much tension over the years that this could've happened at any point, and House has definitely secretly thought about it before a few times, but there was always something in the way, preventing him from trying, or he just hadn't been ready to cross that line.

Well, the line has been crossed – he'd better enjoy it.

Wilson visibly swallows and House wonders if he's nervous too, if he's thinking the same thing. He collects himself, clears his throat, and wastes no time in pressing his fingers against House's hole, spreading the lube around first and then slowly inserting a single digit. House watches as Wilson stares at his own finger disappearing into House's body with something like surprise or fascination, and House almost wants to make a joke about it, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. Wilson's eyes flicker up to House's face for a moment, likely checking for any discomfort, but whatever he sees in House's face he must deem acceptable because his eyes drop again and he relaxes.

Wilson gently slips his finger out and then back in, repeating this a couple of times before he adds another finger. It goes in easily alongside the first, and the stretch isn't bad – House squirms a little but says nothing about it, his thighs tensing and cock throbbing uncomfortably. His leg still hurts, but it's fairly easy to keep ignoring it.

Wilson keeps thrusting his fingers in and out, his eyes sweeping over House's body appreciatively, and House shivers in response to it, wondering just what the hell Wilson even sees in him. He's an old, crippled, misanthropic jerk, and yet Wilson is looking at him with something like fondness or adoration. It's perplexing, yet intriguing.

"You really are more insane than I thought," House comments suddenly and Wilson just smiles at that, chuckling a little.

"Thanks," he replies, not bothering to ask for context or find out what House is thinking. "Have to be to put up with you for as long as I have. A sane man would've ditched you years ago."

"I know," House acknowledges, "but you'd have to have completely lost your mind to see me and know me and still want to fuck me."

Wilson shrugs. "I mean, not necessarily," he argues, his smile still intact, "but I do see your point."

"You're a fucking freak," House tells him then and Wilson barks out a laugh, which makes House laugh in response, finally starting to feel more at ease. This is the kind of thing that he had expected to happen if they ever were to have sex – the quietness doesn't really suit them. Wilson shakes his head, trying but clearly failing to fight off his grin.

"You know, the fact that you think so is mildly concerning, I will admit," he says, and before House can retort, Wilson curls his fingers and prods at House's prostate.

Whatever House was thinking of saying next completely fades from his mind in an instant, waves of pleasure washing over him. He pushes back against Wilson's fingers, trying to get him to do it again, and he is rewarded with another prod. And another, and another, and another…

House swipes a hand over his face, pressing his palm against his mouth and screwing his eyes shut. "Fuck," he swears, the word muffled against his hand. "Wilson–"

He interrupts himself with a soft groan that Wilson imitates, and when House opens his eyes, Wilson is using his free hand to stroke himself in time with the thrusts of his fingers. For a second House almost wonders if he's just dreaming all of this up and is still stuck in solitary confinement, but the slide and stretch of Wilson putting a third finger within him is very real, drawing another sound out of him.

If House would've known that this was what he had to look forward to when getting out of prison, he wouldn't have screwed up his chance at getting out on parole two months ago.

He swallows, feeling like he might explode if Wilson doesn't fuck him right now, every thrust and prod of Wilson's three fingers bringing him just a little bit closer to the edge. He can feel it building up and mumbles out a warning to Wilson, who nods and withdraws his fingers from House's hole abruptly to ask again, "Do you wanna turn over for me?"

House nods in response, and with Wilson's help, he turns over onto his front, his hips still elevated from the pillow. He spreads his trembling thighs a little but can't quite get up onto his knees with how badly his leg hurts. Wilson doesn't seem to mind, though, his hands running up the back of House's thighs and over his ass.

"Condom?" Wilson then asks, and House isn't sure if he's asking for one or seeing if House wants to use one.

"Might be one in the drawer, if you really need it," House answers dazedly, trying to get relaxed again in this new position.

"I didn't see one earlier," Wilson says thoughtfully, and then he goes quiet for a moment before continuing with, "but if you're clean, then I guess we don't exactly need it."

"I'm good," House assures him, but doesn't say anything more about it than that. It's the truth, though, and he hopes Wilson trusts him. He tries to turn his head to catch a glimpse of Wilson's face, but he can't manage to without moving too much, so he sighs and settles down.

Wilson's hands give House's ass a squeeze before he lets go completely, and House can hear the sound of the bottle of lube opening again. He tenses up when he feels Wilson's fingers prodding at his hole a moment later to smear around some extra lube, and forces himself to relax. The fingers dip inside momentarily and then they're gone again, fast as they came. House takes a breath, waiting.

He hears the cap of the lube bottle snap shut before he can feel Wilson moving over him, touching his hips and back and then his shoulders. Wilson moves until his arms are bracketing House's head, his cock pressed against House's ass. He grinds down a little at first and then moves one hand downwards to reposition himself at House's hole. He doesn't ask if House is okay or if he's ready – he just exhales shakily and then starts pushing it in a little bit at a time.

House holds his breath but keeps himself relaxed, easily taking Wilson's cock up his ass with no trouble whatsoever. Wilson keeps pushing until he's all the way inside and House can feel Wilson's hips pressed against him. When Wilson goes still, House lets out the breath he'd been holding, his heart racing as he adjusts to this new feeling, a little uncomfortable but not enough to want this to stop.

"You okay?" Wilson finally asks him, sounding just as breathless as House, and House knew he wouldn't be able to resist checking. He awkwardly bends to press a kiss to House's shoulder blade, then another one the back of House's neck, seemingly waiting for an answer.

"I'm fine," House says, half muffled by the mattress, but Wilson still doesn't move an inch. House sighs and presses back against him impatiently. "Come on," he urges. "Give it to me."

Wilson lets out an audible exhale and House sees the fingers of Wilson's hand that's in front of his face grab at the sheets. With his own hand, he grabs Wilson's wrist and gives it a slight squeeze.

Wilson begins to move then, slowly at first and only a little bit, shallowly thrusting into House's body. The stretch is a bit much now compared to Wilson's fingers, but House doesn't mind it, finding that he likes the way it feels to have Wilson draped over him, rocking back and forth into him, filling him up.

After a few moments Wilson deepens and quickens his thrusts, pulling out more and then plunging back inside without waiting. With every movement House shifts a little, his cock rubbing against the pillow, which feels nice but is nowhere near enough to get him off. He needs more, the little bit of friction driving him insane.

"Come on," he murmurs again, fingers tightening around Wilson's wrist, and Wilson kisses his shoulder before moving faster, driving into him harder. "Yes, come on– just like that…"

Wilson doesn't speak, moving one of his hands to House's hip as he continues to fuck him, changing angles until he finds House's prostate. House groans and shudders at the feeling, knowing that he's squeezing Wilson's wrist hard enough to leave bruises behind, but he doesn't care – Wilson is grabbing his hip just as hard. They'll be matching.

"House," Wilson manages to choke out, sounding like he can't breathe. "I'm–"

"Do it," House encourages him, tightening his hole around Wilson's cock. "Come on, Wilson…"

Wilson can only seem to moan in response, going faster and faster before he begins to slow down again, letting go of House's hip to place his hand back onto the bed to support himself. He keeps thrusting and House keeps clenching and unclenching, hoping it adds to Wilson's pleasure, and he feels Wilson tensing up behind him, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

Wilson comes silently, save for an audible, trembling exhale. He goes still against House, breathing heavily, and only moves a few moments later, completely pulling out and leaving House feeling empty and wet and way too hot. Before he can relax, Wilson urges him to turn over onto his back, pushing the pillow out of the way. He wedges himself between House's thighs and swiftly takes House's cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip and making House see stars.

He swears and reaches down and grabs a handful of Wilson's hair, gently tugging on it, which earns him a moan from Wilson that feels fantastic on his cock. Wilson pushes up his left thigh and, without giving any warning, presses two fingers back into his ass, leaving him a little overwhelmed but in the best way as Wilson fucks him with them and sucks and licks the tip of his cock at the same time. House feels like he might die when Wilson pulls his mouth off, but he replaces it with his hand instead, dragging his thumb over the slit of House's cock.

Wilson strokes him repeatedly with one hand, and the fingers of his other hand seek out House's prostate again. It doesn't take long before House is coming, slightly overstimulated when Wilson keeps working him through it, leaving him shaking and unable to catch his breath, his back arching. When his body goes slack, Wilson withdraws his fingers, lets go of House's cock, and presses a quick kiss to House's stomach before he moves to lie beside House with a deep sigh.

House glances over at him and finds that he looks satisfied, no traces of regret or anything to be found in his expression, which is relieving. "You okay?" House asks, just to be sure. He just got Wilson back and wants to know that what just happened won't change anything between them in a bad way.

Wilson raises an eyebrow at him but nods in response. "Yeah, great. You? Your leg?"

"Never better," House says truthfully, transferring his gaze up to the ceiling. His leg hurts less than it did earlier, which is nice, and he feels good – he hadn't had an orgasm since before he went to prison, so it had been long overdue. He just doesn't know what happens now, where he and Wilson go from here. He tries to voice this without coming off as afraid. "So now what?"

A minute passes without a response, and then Wilson sits up a little, leaning over House. He visibly hesitates at first but then closes the gap between them, kissing him softly. House kisses back, his hand moving to touch Wilson's face. It doesn't exactly answer his question about what's going to happen to them now that they've had sex, but it's still reassuring, and he'll take it. He knows that they'll figure this out.

The kiss ends after a bit and Wilson lies back down beside House. "I'm too tired to get up," he admits, and House looks at him again, mildly curious. Wilson meets his eyes and then asks, "Mind if I stay here?"

House shakes his head. "Nope," he replies, popping the 'p'. In fact, he'd prefer it if Wilson stayed. He doesn't say that aloud, though he feels it strongly.

Wilson smiles. "I really have missed you," he says genuinely, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling now. "I was being genuine when I said it before. I just… I didn't realize how much I did until you were standing right in front of me again, being an insufferable bastard." He pauses and House just watches him. "As much as I tried to push you away, I think deep down I knew it was going to be a losing battle – I knew I wouldn't have been able to keep my distance from you forever. I didn't really want to. You may be an insufferable bastard, but you certainly are alluring, I guess. And… I like you too. For some reason. And… I want this… whatever this is now… to continue."

House can only stare at him in bewilderment. "God, you're such a freak," he tells Wilson again, a bit fascinated at how earlier Wilson didn't even want to speak to him, and then a punch in the face later, Wilson apparently decided that he wanted to fuck House and now he says he likes him and wants this to continue. It's insane. Wilson is insane. Maybe they both are. House shakes his head. "You're so lucky I'm into that. But just know that if you ever break up with me, it's gonna cost you a dining room."

Wilson just laughs, and well… maybe House still believes in love a little bit.

—