Archive of Our Own

Henry had been in the habit for a while now of visiting House's apartment once a month or so to watch a ball game with House and Wilson. He brought beer and chips of course, and the three of them would lounge around, eat, drink and make inane conversation. They'd always been friendly to him, but he had thought at first that they were a little bit stilted in how they acted towards each other in his presence. As if they weren't quite sure how to behave in front of him. But over time, as they'd got used to having him around, he'd noticed they'd both gradually got more relaxed and natural. And recently they'd been positively casual about it all.

He was still surprised though, when Wilson opened the door to him apparently wearing nothing more than a T-shirt. One of House's T-shirts too, judging from the gaudy print.

"Hey, Henry," Wilson greeted him, stepping backwards, and Henry saw with some relief that Wilson was wearing shorts after all, just rather short shorts. "Come in. I'm just in the middle of cooking. Venison stew. I have to stir."

Henry shut the door behind him and followed Wilson into the kitchen. "Nice outfit," Henry said, deadpan.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Wilson stuck a long wooden spoon in a pan and stirred vigorously. "Would you believe House spilled red wine all over my pants last night—and all over my shirt. I do have a spare pair of pants here, but only one, so I thought I'd better do lunch first before I put them on—this stuff can splash and it would stain too." Some stew slopped out of the pan while he was talking. It was a delicious-looking rich red-brown color.

Henry nodded solemnly and got himself a cold beer out of the fridge.

"House around?" he asked, sitting down at the kitchen table and popping open the can.

"He's in the shower." Now Wilson had mentioned it, Henry could hear the sound of the shower down the hall. "He slept in late this morning—just got up in honor of your pending arrival."

"I'm very flattered," Henry said, amused.

Ten minutes later, House appeared in the kitchen, wearing a long brown bathrobe and mopping his wet hair with a towel. He was walking without his cane, so he leaned heavily on the doorframe for support.

"Scooter. Thought I heard you arrive. I hope you brought replacements for that beer of mine you're drinking." House then glared at Wilson, who was still at the stove. "Wilson, I'm sure Henry appreciates the view, but put some pants on for Christ's sake. And isn't that my T-shirt?"

"If you'd let me have more than an inch of your closet space I'd keep more clothes here," Wilson retorted, tasting the stew. Apparently it was acceptable, as he put the spoon down. "OK. Henry, would you mind taking over here? I'm just going to get dressed."

Henry watched House and Wilson vanish off towards the bedroom together and smiled. He ladled the stew into bowls and carried them to the lounge.

Soon the three of them were sitting watching the game and eating stew, both House and Wilson now fully dressed, though Wilson was still wearing House's T-shirt. Actually, judging from the glances House occasionally threw at Wilson, Henry suspected that House rather liked seeing Wilson wearing his T-shirt.

After a couple of hours Henry dozed off in his armchair; he did find himself napping increasingly these days in the afternoon. He woke with a jump some twenty minutes later and glanced round the room to see that House and Wilson were lying on the couch, necking. They were fully clothed, but Henry thought he could see Wilson pressing his crotch up against House's hip, and House had definitely put a hand up inside Wilson's T-shirt. Which was House's T-shirt, of course.

Henry shut his eyes and yawned loudly and exaggeratedly, finding it became a real yawn in the process, and stretched; when he opened his eyes House and Wilson were no longer necking, although they were still lying close together.

"Want a coffee, Henry?" Wilson asked, shifting away from House. "Help keep you awake."

"Sure," Henry said, thinking he would leave after that; he didn't want to outstay his welcome.

Wilson got up and padded into the kitchen. House remained lying on the couch; he picked up the remote and started channel surfing. Wilson came back into the living room a few minutes later carrying mugs, and said, "It's black coffee only. House, you're out of milk again."

"I thought you'd buy some," House said in an injured tone. "You were food shopping, weren't you?"

"Yeah, for the stew. Not for your everyday needs." Wilson rolled his eyes in exasperation as he put the mugs down on the table.

"Oh well, if you can't be bothered. Guess I'll have to go out and get some later." House reached out for a mug, shifting his body slightly, and grimaced and clutched his leg. He was laying it on thick.

Wilson sighed, obviously not convinced by this little show, but going along with it. "It's alright. I'll go."

"You two sound just like an old married couple. Ever thought of getting married?" Henry asked in amusement.

House and Wilson both made snorting noises. "Wilson hasn't got a great track record in that area," House said.

Wilson elbowed House in the ribs. "House just doesn't want to risk being called the fourth Mrs. Wilson."

"You would so be the first Mrs. House," House came back spiritedly. "Anyway, I wouldn't marry anyone without living with them first. And Wilson won't move in with me no matter how often I ask."

"We've tried it before, remember?" Wilson said, in a not-this-again voice. "Didn't we nearly drive each other mad?"

"That was when you were still in denial about the end of your last marriage, and sleeping on the couch," House retorted. "I think you've moved on a bit since then."

Henry made a remark about domestic bliss, which led Wilson to relate, with remembered indignation, the story of how House had put Wilson's hand in a bowl of water while he slept. House rolled his eyes and reminded Wilson about the cane-sawing incident. Henry listened happily to the stories until he'd finished his coffee, then he made his excuses and departed.

***

After Henry had left, House and Wilson retreated to the bedroom and started necking again. Wilson resumed his position lying with his groin pressed up against House's hip. House could feel Wilson's cock, semi-hard and getting harder, through his pants.

House reached down to undo Wilson's belt. Wilson sat up and wriggled out of his pants, while House squirmed out of his. Wilson then moved to take off the T-shirt he was wearing, but House put out a hand to stop him.

Wilson looked down at House, surprised, then raised an eyebrow and grinned. "House, you like me wearing this, don't you?"

House looked up at Wilson, now clad only in the T-shirt. It looked rather incongruous, partly because Wilson didn't own anything like it himself—he wore dress shirts so often, even at weekends—and partly because it hung just a little too big and baggy on him.

"Don't get ideas about stealing my wardrobe," House said gruffly, knowing Wilson could see this is a total turn-on in his face.

"So that's why you won't give me any more closet space here, you'd rather I wore your clothes," Wilson said mischievously, and he lay down again, pressing the length of his body against House's, angling himself skillfully away from House's bad leg.

House felt Wilson's cock, really hard now, pushing up against his own, and his breathing quickened. House pressed back, starting to grind, and watched Wilson's face, inches from his own, contort with arousal. House ducked his head down slightly to nestle his face against Wilson's chest, breathing the familiar scent of both himself and Wilson in the fabric of the T-shirt. Wilson reached down and grasped House's cock in his hand. A couple of swift rolling movements later and House came with a small, stifled cry. Wilson pushed his crotch hard up against House's hip and came himself a few seconds later.

They lay quietly together for a while, recovering.

"You know," House remarked after a while, "One of these days Henry's going to doze off here and wake up to find us fucking."

Wilson made a small, amused sound, leaning into House's neck. "Think he'd be traumatized for life?"

"Nah, he'd pretend he was still asleep and watch," House said confidently.

There was another comfortable silence, then House said casually, "So, Wilson, when the fuck are you going to move out of that hotel and come and live here?"

"I'll ... think about it," Wilson returned, smiling, and House had to be content with that.

***

The next day at the hospital, House reluctantly accepted a patient. Mid-morning, House was in the conference room next to his office, making paper planes and doling out jobs to his team. He dictated some instructions, different tests to be run by Thirteen, Taub and Kutner. The tests would take hours, probably the rest of the day.

"And I'll be out... somewhere this evening, so don't bother me with the results. Unless any of them are positive, which they won't be," House concluded. He frowned. "Where the fuck am I going tonight?"

"Shall we check with Dr. Wilson?" Thirteen asked innocently. When House glared at her, she added, "He does manage your social diary."

Kutner snickered, and House switched his glare to him. House was saved from the bother of thinking up a withering retort as he spotted Wilson through the window at that moment, walking down the hospital corridor and talking to Cameron. House waved his cane in the air. Wilson saw him, stopped and looked in the door.

"Wilson," House hailed him. "What the hell are we doing tonight?"

"You wanted to go to the late night screening of that new horror movie," Wilson said promptly. House nodded and waved his cane again in a gesture of dismissal. Wilson shut the door and carried on down the corridor with Cameron.

House looked back round at his employees. "I knew I had a date. So, no test results during the horror movie. You can go bother Dr. Foreman with them instead." He jerked his head in the direction of Foreman, who was sitting in the corner of the room, not reading the book propped open on his lap.

"So, are the two of you engaged yet or what?" asked Foreman.

***

"You two are just so cute together," Cameron said to Wilson as they walked on down the corridor.

"Uh, thanks, I guess," Wilson said wryly. He looked back at the conference room. House had just thrown a paper plane at Foreman. "Actually, I am thinking about moving in with him."

"Really?" Cameron looked so delighted that Wilson hastily backpedaled.

"Thinking about it, I said."

"Oh, it's about time though, how long have you been living in that hotel?" Cameron didn't give Wilson a chance to answer. "You and House, you get along so well, I'm sure you'd be very happy together."

"That sounds ominous," Wilson observed, a trifle nervously. He noticed Cameron glance down at his hands. He was wearing the ring that he'd exchanged with House on their twentieth anniversary. Since then—two years ago—Wilson had only taken it off once, for a few days, when he and House had had a particularly bad spat about House nearly killing himself for the umpteenth time. As far as Wilson was aware, House had never taken his ring off at all.

"Oh, I'm not trying to marry you off," Cameron said, not sounding at all sincere.

***

"Have you noticed that everybody seems to be trying to marry us off?" Wilson asked House over lunch. They were sitting together in the hospital cafeteria.

"Fuck, yes," House responded, heartfelt. "Do they know something I don't?"

"If so, I don't know it either," Wilson bit into a sandwich. "Though I was stupid enough to tell Cameron I was thinking about moving in with you, just now. I guess that's plenty of rumor-fodder for the next week or so."

"Aw, Jimmy, you really are thinking about it?" House bit into the other half of Wilson's sandwich.

"House, you've got your own!" Wilson said indignantly. He reached out and flicked House on the arm.

House flicked back, and then grasped Wilson's hand, interlacing their fingers together. Wilson smiled despite himself, and moved his thumb to stroke House's palm gently. House let out a small affected groan and closed his eyes.

"When the two of you have finished behaving like newlyweds," Cuddy's voice interrupted, and both House and Wilson jumped. "You've got clinic duty, House. It starts at two. Be on time for once."

House opened his eyes and looked at the clock. "It's only quarter to! I'm not even late yet!" His voice was aggrieved, and he hadn't let go of Wilson's hand; Wilson smiled up at Cuddy apologetically. Cuddy rolled her eyes and walked away.

"And what's this with the newlywed stuff?" House continued talking to Wilson in an undertone. "Anyone would think-"

He stopped suddenly. Wilson recognized a eureka moment, and waited patiently for the reveal.

"Anyone would think that there was a betting pool on it," House said slowly.

Wilson groaned.

"Chase!" House said through gritted teeth. He let go of Wilson's hand, got up, grabbed his cane, and strode away.

***

"It's not me!" Chase protested vainly. House had him cornered in the surgical team locker room.

"But there's a betting pool somewhere," House pressed.

Chase nodded with reluctance. "Radiology don't seem to feel their lives are complete unless they've got a pool going about you two."

"I should have known," House said in disgust. "Details, right now, or I tell Cameron you've been making eyes at Marco over the pharmacy counter—and why the current flurry of excitement?"

Chase shrugged. "Well, until this morning, you could speculate on three things: when the two of you might move in together, when you might get engaged, or when the full civil union commitment ceremony thing might happen. The pool stopped taking bets on the moving in thing just this morning, after someone put quite a lot of money on that happening in the next few months."

"That would be Cameron," House said, recalling what Wilson had said.

"Uh, no, actually. She went right along to do that after she talked to Wilson earlier, but she was too late. Someone else had already put in the big bet, I don't know who it was, and they'd closed that one."

"Really." House was surprised. He thought for a minute about possibilities and scowled. "Alright, Chase. Don't you dare mention that moving in bet thing to Wilson; he really is thinking about it and I don't want to scare him off."

House told Wilson that it was Radiology up to their old tricks and that people were betting on them getting married. He didn't mention the moving in thing.

***

A couple of weeks later, House and Wilson had been out in House's car and House was dropping Wilson back at his hotel in the evening. House stopped outside the hotel and Wilson said unexpectedly, "Come up for coffee."

"Your coffee doesn't deserve the honorable name of coffee," House complained. "Brown water would be a better description."

"Oh come on," Wilson coaxed, and House reluctantly parked, got out of the car and followed Wilson into the hotel lobby.

Instead of heading straight for the elevator though, Wilson stopped at the reception and said with a friendly smile to the receptionist, "Hi, Jemima."

Trust Wilson to know all the hotel staff, House thought idly. Though of course Wilson had been living here longer than most of them had been working here.

"Jemima, I was wondering if you could tell me when I'm paid up until?" Wilson asked.

Suddenly House saw what was coming. He froze, standing a foot behind Wilson, leaning on his cane.

"Of course, Dr. Wilson." Jemima tapped at the computer keyboard. "Three more weeks, or until the end of this month. Another extension, Dr. Wilson?"

"Actually, no." Wilson took a deep breath. "I'll be moving out after that. Perhaps you could make a note, and make sure I get a final bill for then? Thanks, Jemima."

Wilson turned round, looking rather sheepish. House stared at him, unbelieving, then said, "Wilson, you beauty."

"Shall we go upstairs?" Wilson said, a little self-consciously, and led the way towards the elevator.

Once inside Wilson's room, House wrapped himself around Wilson and held him tight, muttering, "About fucking time, too."

Wilson laughed, and said into House's shoulder, "You're gonna have to move some stuff out of your closet, you know."

"I thought we got out of the closet a long time ago." House moved in for the kiss.

The two of them stood there for a long moment, then Wilson disentangled himself gently, said, "Back in a minute," and headed towards the bathroom.

House kicked off his sneakers, took off his jacket and dropped it on a chair. He then moved towards the bed, groped in the bedside cabinet to find the lube, and then sprawled across the blanket. It had been neatly made up and tucked in by the hotel maid. House tugged the bed covers loose impatiently. This was why he couldn't stand Wilson living here; so goddamn uniform and sterile and just not conducive to hot sex, for the most part.

Then Wilson came out of the bathroom, and House stared in amazement. Wilson was no longer wearing the dress shirt, smart pants and tie he'd gone in with. He was now wearing a T-shirt—one of House's T-shirts, in fact the one House had worn yesterday to work. House recalled dropping it on his bedroom floor last night. It was black with a gold print; it hung slightly too big on Wilson, falling off his shoulders and round his hips, just covering his ass.

He wasn't wearing anything else.

He looked incredibly fuckable.

House felt an instant erection. This wasn't lost on Wilson, who joked, "Perhaps I should dress like this more often."

"Hell no. I'd never get any work done," said House, hearing a slight shake in his voice. "Anyway, you've got your dorkish reputation to uphold." And nobody else should see you like this except me. Ever.

Wilson laughed, and came over to the bed. House was sitting leaning back against the headboard, still fully clothed; Wilson knelt on the covers next to House. They kissed gently, and House moved his face down to Wilson's chest, nuzzling through the T-shirt, breathing in his own sweat and Wilson's cologne. House reached underneath the T-shirt, running his hands up Wilson's chest and down his ass, and over Wilson's cock, now pulsing up against the fabric.

House then slouched down the headboard, pushed Wilson's T-shirt up so it covered House's head, and took Wilson's cock in his mouth, lapping, sucking, nibbling. House slicked his hand with lube and started to finger-fuck Wilson gently, while Wilson muttered, "God, House, yeah," above him. House could feel his own cock starting to push fiercely inside his pants.

After a few minutes House pulled back and gasped, "Gotta fuck you like this."

Wilson nodded, breathless. House swiftly pulled off his own clothes and rolled on a condom. Wilson leaned forward and gripped the headboard. House moved up behind Wilson and eased his cock up Wilson's ass. Wilson hissed through his teeth. House put his hands over Wilson's hands and started to thrust, leaning with all his might on his hands and his good leg and on Wilson's body. House felt the T-shirt, now sweaty and clinging to Wilson's back, rubbing against his chest. Soon Wilson would be living with him, around all the time, they could be doing this all—the—time; House came with a final frenzied thrust, driving deep inside Wilson.

House pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to Wilson, heart pounding, and his leg pulsing. Wilson, panting, rolled onto his side. House tried to summon up enough energy to reach up to Wilson, but Wilson waved him away and House watched through half-shut eyes as Wilson finished himself off with a couple of deft hand movements, coming all over that T-shirt.

Afterwards, as they lay close together and half-asleep, House mumbled, "Tell me you were the one who put a large amount of money on moving in with me on the Radiology Betting Pool a few weeks ago."

"Mmmm?" Wilson murmured. "No. Didn't know I could've done. Should I have?"

"Hmph." House was puzzled now. "Somebody did. It wasn't you? Under some appropriate pseudonym?"

"Not me." Wilson yawned. "Sorry to disappoint you. I didn't even know you could bet on me moving in. Though I'm flattered you thought it might have been me."

"Huh. I'd have claimed half if it had been you, of course," House retorted. "Who'd you tell that you were thinking about it? Apart from Cameron."

"Nobody." Wilson's eyes were closed.

"Hmph," House said again, and let it go, as his own eyelids refused to stay open any longer.

***

Next morning, Chase was sitting in the staff room flipping through a magazine when in came House and Wilson. House sat down on the couch next to Chase; Wilson hovered in front of him.

"Chase, I was wondering if you could do me a favor," Wilson said brightly. "I'm gonna be moving at the end of this month, would you mind giving me a hand moving my stuff?"

"Sure. No problem." Chase looked at Wilson, then at House. "Moving... far?"

"You know perfectly well where he's moving to," House said, his eyes glinting in satisfaction.

"Ah," Chase said knowingly.

"Yeah," Wilson confirmed. "And you also know that House won't lift a finger to actually help me pack or anything, so—"

"Hey! Cripple with a cane!" House said indignantly, tapping it on the floor between his feet for emphasis. "You expect me to go heaving boxes around like this?"

"No, I expect you to sit on the sidelines giving directions and eating all the donuts," Wilson said, deadpan.

"Of course I'll help," Chase said hastily. He leaned back on the sofa with his elbows, and added, "So, I guess Henry can collect his winnings now."

"Henry!" House and Wilson said together, surprised.

"That sly bastard," House said with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. "Wait 'til I see him next."

"He played a good game," Chase remarked, and then looked hopeful. "I guess the engagement and marriage pools are still open. Any chance of a heads up? I'll cut you in."

"Of course you would," said House. "But one thing at a time." He looked at Wilson. "That's a whole 'nother story."